The Dog and The Bear
by Syreena Mormont
Summary: The beautiful Syreena Mormont is brought to King’s Landing as the Queen’s Ward. The Hound knows the beauty is meant to marry a highborn lord or a knight, but finds himself dangerously close to falling for her. Could she see past his scars and love him in return?
1. chapter 1

**Before you read this, know that it is my first time writing fan fiction, so be gentle! ;) Sandor "The Hound" Clegane is my favorite GOT character. His character has grown and evolved so much from the beginning and I love who he has become. I desperately want Sandor to find love and I enjoy reading Sandor/Sansa fan fiction, but deep down I'm not sold on Sansa as his perfect match. I hope you like the character I created specifically with him in mind. As this is my first time writing anything like this I am open to constructive criticism! Please review and tell me what you think. I hope you like it!**

 **Chapter One: Homecoming**

The morning was a cold one, an icy wind blowing off the Bay of Ice. Chilled to the bone, Jorah stopped at the top of the hill overlooking his family home. The large wooden longhouse was nowhere near as grand as the stone castles of Westeros, but the Mormonts were fiercely proud of their home and he warmed at the sight of it.

He watched wisps of smoke slowly rise from the chimneys, letting his childhood memories flood into his mind. It felt like an eternity since he had last been here. He would never forget the day he left; he had disgraced his house and fled Lord Stark's judgement like a coward. His stomach twisted and the familiar flush of heat crept up his neck, a clammy sweat settled on his brow. He knew this feeling well, his shame hitting him like the waves on the Frozen Shore.

As the feeling washed over him he remembered why he had dared to return to his ancestral home. He had long grown tired of running from his shame and traveled to King's Landing to plead his case with the Crown. His audience with King Robert had been promising; he had offered his service to the Crown in exchange for a full pardon. The King was cautious to trust him, but eventually agreed to his proposal. In return for a full pardon he had only two orders for him: to spy on the Targaryen girl and report her movements to Lord Varys, and to bring his younger sister, Syreena, to court as a show of faith. He assured Jorah that she would benefit greatly from her stay in the Red Keep as the Queen's Ward, and that an advantageous marriage would be arranged for her. Jorah agreed hesitantly, unsure of how Syreena would react to such a demand.

His sister's face rose up in his mind. He hadn't seen Syreena in years and was surprised at how easily he recalled her features: her thick, black hair wild from the sea wind, her green eyes shining like emeralds as she laughed. He remembered chasing her around the keep when she was little; how she squealed with laughter and ran until her pale cheeks flushed from exhaustion. He had been forbidden to see her when he was disgraced. He wondered how she would receive him now.

A bird cried out from a nearby tree and broke his daze. He pulled his cloak around him tightly and continued his march to the old wooden keep, unsure of what he would find there.

Syreena awoke to a chilly morning, the fire burning low in the hearth. Her lady's maid, Wynna, was quietly moving about the chamber, laying out her warm northern frock and underclothes. Wynna jumped as Syreena sat up, yawning.

"My apologies, Milady," she said breathlessly, "I did not mean to wake you."

"No need for apologies, Wynna." Syreena replied, standing, "has the bath water been drawn?"

"Yes, Milady."

Syreena made her way across the chamber and into the adjoining bathing room. She pulled the long nightgown over her head and got into the tub, settling into the warm, fragrant water with a sigh. Wynna came into the room after a short while and helped her wash out her long, black hair. Syreena relaxed and closed her eyes, letting Wynna wash out her hair in silence. When she was done Wynna brought Syreena a thick linen covering to dry with, and helped her out of the tub. Syreena quickly dressed in her warm underclothes and and dark green frock and sat down at the vanity. Wynna dried and brushed out her long black hair until it gleamed in the torchlight. Syreena studied her face in the mirror, trying to picture her late mother sitting in the same spot. She had been told countless times that she favored her mother, but had no memory of her to compare herself to. She thought of her father away at Castle Black, and her exiled brother, Jorah. The familiar feeling of loneliness came over her and she looked away quickly, pushing back the flood that threatened to fill her emerald eyes. She was very much alone at Bear Island, with only her Aunt Maege's daughters as companions. She loved her family fiercely, but couldn't help but feel the differences between them growing more and more each day.

Maege and her daughters were fierce warrior women and were happier in leather and mail than in corsets and gowns. Syreena, like all of the women of Bear Island, had been thoroughly trained in the art of sword play and had been given her own short sword and dagger on her 10th nameday. Her father wielded Longclaw, House Mormont's ancestral Valyrian Steel sword, and had personally requested her matching set be made in its likeness. They were not Valyrian Steel, but had the same silver bear on the pommels. Syreena glanced at the weapons laying on the chest at the end of her bed, her most prized gifts from her father. She was proud of her blades and the skill she possessed with them, but preferred to adhere to a more ladylike standard, following in her Lady mother's footsteps. She knew her fate was sealed as the daughter of a Lord; she would someday marry a lord or a knight and manage his holdfast and bear his children. She had accepted this long ago, but still held hope that she might find happiness in her arrangement.

Wynna pulled Syreena's hair back from her temples and braided the pieces together in the back. The rest of her hair was left free to fall to her waist. Syreena rose from her seat at the vanity and clasped a wide metal belt around the smallest part of her waist. She let Wynna place a black cloak over her shoulders and she left her chamber to join her family in the great hall.

She heard the sounds of laughter and boisterous conversations long before she reached the great hall. The hall was filled with people. Most were men of Bear Island's small army; older men breaking fast with their wives and children, younger men seated together in groups, sharing tales of war and women. Serving girls moved between the tables, clearing used dishes and bringing more food to the guests. A few were less focused on their task, huddled together giggling and blushing as they caught the eye of a young soldier. Her heart warmed at the sight of them, her large extended family. She had grown up among these people, heard their stories, shared in their camaraderie.

Her Aunt Maege and her daughters were already seated at the large table at the end of the hall, laughing and feasting together. She slowly moved through the crowd toward them, greeting familiar faces with a smile. Several men rose from their seats as they saw her coming, she nodded graciously at each one.

Maege turned her attention to Syreena as she approached the table.

"Syreena!" She roared, "Glad to have your pretty face in our midst!"

Syreena smiled wide and embraced her beloved aunt, who planted a kiss on her cheek. She greeted each of her cousins as she moved down the table, taking a seat next to Maege's youngest daughter, Lyanna. The child was the fiercest of all Maege's daughters, she was small in stature but carried herself like a commanding general. She was well into an argument with her older sister, Lyra, when Syreena sat down.

"Don't tell me when I'm ready for tourney swords, Lyra." She commanded, "I'm already twice the swordswoman you were at my age and I won't be left here to defend Bear Island with a stick of wood."

The older girls chuckled and applauded her ferocity, quelling her anger by agreeing to let her train with tourney swords later that day. Lyanna smiled to herself proudly for having won the debate.

Syreena watched her aunt as she moved about the hall speaking with her men. The old woman was dressed in her usual leathers and mail, her gray hair hanging wildly around her shoulders. Her face was battle-scarred and worn from time, but her bright eyes still blazed like wildfire when she spoke of war with her men. Maege was often said to be willful and short-tempered, but Syreena only knew her as the strong and caring woman who raised her as one of her own daughters.

Suddenly the hall fell silent, all eyes on the man standing alone in the entryway. Syreena stood on her toes to try to get a better look, but her view was completely blocked by the men beginning to stand from their tables, hands on their sword hilts.

"Clear the hall, now." Maege roared from the middle of the crowd. Immediately there was a mass exodus from the great hall, every man, woman, and child heading for the entryway. Despite the large number of people moving together, an uncomfortable quiet had settled over the hall. Syreena tried to get a glimpse of her aunt, but Maege was surrounded by her most trusted advisors and the crowd was herding Syreena out of the hall. She forced her way from the throng of people just outside the doorway and found her cousins all together. They shared an unspoken look of uncertainty and watched as the heavy wooden doors closed behind the last to exit.

Jorah stood in the middle of the great hall in front of Maege and the 5 men who made up her council. He knew them all by name, he had known them his whole life. He did not dare show any familiarity with them, he knew his position was a precarious one and he was careful not to step out-of-bounds with his Aunt Maege, the Lady of Bear Island.

Maege broke the uncomfortable silence, "Because you are my nephew, I will grant your request for an audience. Speak now, Jorah, and pray that I do not send for Lord Eddard's Justice."

He shifted uncomfortably and took a breath, carefully preparing the words.

"Lady Mormont, I have been given the promise of a full pardon from King Robert." He started, "I have with me a decree with the seal of the king." He pulled the rolled parchment from his pack and handed it to the man sitting to her right. Maege rose menacingly from her chair, eyes shining.

"You mean to return here and take Bear Island from me?" She growled, her hand going to the mace laying on the table between them. It was her weapon of choice, and she was feared across the seven kingdoms for her skill and ferocity with it.

"No, my Lady. My right to the lordship of Bear Island is forfeit. I am now in the service of the Crown." He said quickly, "It was not my wish to come here and offend you, my Lady; I know I disgraced this House and I know you have fought to bring honor back to the Mormont name." He paused for a moment, watching Maege as she settled back in her chair.

"What is it you want, Jorah?" She commanded.

"My sister." He replied.

After what felt like an eternity of waiting, the doors opened and a stout, graying councilman stepped into the foyer.

"Syreena, milady," he called, "The Lady Mormont requires your presence now."

Startled, Syreena walked slowly toward the door, her cousins immediately following behind her.

"Just the Lady Syreena." He added, stopping Maege's daughters in their tracks. Syreena turned to Dacey, the oldest, who reached out reassuringly and lead her to the door. Syreena took a deep breath, and walked into the great hall. As she entered the room, she quickly surveyed her surroundings. The intruder stood in front of the high table where Maege and her council were seated. No one spoke as she walked slowly toward the table. Maege stood and beckoned for her.

"Come, child. Your brother has traveled a long way to see you."

Syreena gasped slightly, stopping to process what she had just heard. She glanced at the intruder, her brother, and a thousand questions brimmed on her tongue. Remembering her courtesies, she remained quiet and did as her aunt asked. She walked to the end of the table and turned around, squaring off to the man who betrayed her family. As a child she had dreamt of this moment a thousand times, that her brother would come back for her and she wouldn't be alone on the cold island anymore. Over the years her hope had turned cold and fallen away. After a moment her confusion gave way to anger, and she stood there, expressionless, waiting for someone to speak.

Maege spoke slowly, her teeth clenched in anger, "Syreena, sweetling, your brother has returned with a decree from the king commanding that you travel to King's Landing immediately and join the court as the Queen's Ward."

The words hit her like a wave of ice. Her blood ran cold and tears threatened to fall. She stood her ground, dug her nails into her palms, and showed no emotion. She turned to her Aunt Maege, who was standing at the table, red-faced with anger.

"What will you have me do, my Lady? It is your command I obey, not the word of a traitor." Syreena replied calmly, her voice strong. Maege straightened proudly, a slight smile curving her lip.

"I would send Robert Baratheon and his Lannister bitch this man's head and invite them to fall upon this army." Maege growled, "but this decision I leave to you."

Syreena thought over her aunt's strong words, tears once again stinging at her eyes. She knew if it came to war with the Crown her people would fight bravely, each with the strength of ten mainlanders. She was no military strategist, but even she knew they would be sorely outnumbered. She could not let her beloved family lose their lives because she was afraid. She prayed silently for strength and made her decision.

"I will go with him to King's Landing."

Jorah turned and caught sight of Syreena as she entered the hall. She was several years older and had grown into a woman in his absence. His heart welled with pride as he assessed his sister; she was tall for a woman and slender in frame. She moved with the silent grace of a highborn Lady, yet he knew she had been trained to fight by Maege herself, and for that she must be skilled with a blade. He surveyed her face, her pale features were soft and feminine, the resemblance to their Lady mother was uncanny. Her black hair fell down her back to her waist, her green eyes shining like emeralds. Their eyes met as Maege informed Syreena of his identity. A look of recognition and surprise showed briefly on her face, and then quickly disappeared. His heart fell slightly as she looked away from him in disdain.

He watched silently as Maege broke the news to her, and stiffened when his beloved sister called him a traitor. He understood her anger, he had been living with his own shame for many years. He studied her face as she carefully thought over the choices in front of her. Though she hid it well, he could see the fear and sadness in her eyes as she agreed to leave with him. He breathed a sigh of relief, careful not to smile in front of Maege, who looked as though she would split him in two with a swing of her mace.

He was escorted into the foyer to wait for Syreena to gather her belongings and prepare for the journey. People passed him as he waited uncomfortably. He received no kindness from anyone, no hint of familiarity. He expected nothing less from these proud people, and he did not blame them for hating him. Despite his surroundings, he was inwardly triumphant. He would surely get his pardon now.

Syreena entered her chamber and slammed the heavy door closed, finally letting the tears fall freely. She took a few steps toward the bed and her legs gave out from under her. She pulled her knees to her chest and she cried until she felt ill. Maege entered the room, pulled Syreena to her feet and led her to the bed. They sat down and Maege pulled her into a warm embrace, stroking her hair soothingly. Wynna arrived breathlessly, looking to Maege for instruction.

"Wynna, gather Lady Syreena's things and pack them in her trunk." Maege quietly commanded, still holding Syreena as she sobbed. "And bring warm water for the washbasin." She pulled Syreena back and held her up at arm's length. "Syreena, look at me. Stop crying, child."

Syreena breathed deeply, pushing back the flood of tears. She closed her eyes for a moment, collecting herself. She opened her eyes and looked at Maege's worn face, her own bright eyes shining. She couldn't bear to say goodbye to this woman, the only mother she had ever really known. Wynna brought the washbasin and a clean linen cloth and Maege washed Syreena's tear-stained face in silence. The words didn't have to be spoken, they could feel the love they shared between them, like a mother bear and her cub.

"The girls will be wanting to see you now." Maege said, breaking the silence. Syreena nodded, afraid to speak. The sadness filled her and drained her strength. She stood, straightening her cloak and pinching her cheeks to bring a blush to them. She didn't want them to know she was upset, especially little Lyanna. Wynna opened the door and all five girls came filing in, each embracing Syreena in turn. She stood amongst them, studying their faces. Surrounded by these fierce women, she felt her strength returning. They were all smiles and wished her well, vowing to see her again someday. When Wynna had packed everything she owned into the chest, Maege picked up her dagger and short sword, looking at them thoughtfully. She brought them to Syreena and helped her fasten the leather belt that held their sheaths around her waist.

Maege spoke quietly, her words forever engrained in Syreena's mind, "You'll be needing these, child. Don't forget who you are. You are a beauty, those southron women will try to make you their pet, but no gilded cage can hold a Bear."

Jorah eyed his sister cautiously as she entered the foyer followed by Maege and her band of warrior daughters. She wore the short sword and dagger their father had given her at her waist. As she approached him her brow furrowed, her expression unreadable. She turned to the women and said nothing, just an understanding nod exchanged between them. She turned and walked briskly past him toward the door.

"Aren't you coming?" She asked coldly as she passed.

He nodded, following behind her and the men carrying her trunk. They loaded it onto a cart and followed behind Syreena and Jorah as they trekked to the boat he had tied to the dock. The men loaded the large chest into the skiff and headed back to the keep, nodding to Syreena as she thanked them. They were alone at last. She did not speak to him, and when he offered his hand to help her into the boat she brushed past his hand icily. They sailed in silence across the Bay of Ice toward Sea Dragon Point, where a dozen gold cloaks waited to escort them to King's Landing.

She watched Bear Island disappear into the fog and mist as they sailed. She knew her life was changed forever and she wondered if she would see the old wooden keep again in her lifetime . A single tear betrayed her, falling slowly down her face. She wiped it away quickly, looking out over the water. Her brother rowed in silence, watching her face. They had a lot to discuss between them, but she couldn't bring herself to talk at the moment. There would be plenty of time for that in the journey to come.


	2. Chapter 2

***RATED M: Vulgar language and adult themes***

 ** _(Thanks to all who have followed my story! Please submit reviews as I continue to write each chapter! Doing the research to make sure my GOT facts are correct is proving difficult and I would like to know if you find anything I missed. Thanks!)_**

 **Chapter 2**

Sandor Clegane cursed under his breath as he shadowed Prince Joffrey on his way to the throne room. The little cunt had been boasting all morning about the upcoming tournament in honor of the new Hand of the King, Lord Stark.

"If I were allowed to enter the tourney, none of those so-called knights would stand a chance." He crowed, "I bet I could easily unseat you, Dog."

Sandor ignored the comment and followed in silence, accustomed to hearing the derisive nickname. Though he hated the little blonde idiot that he was sworn to defend, he enjoyed certain freedoms that came with the future king's favor. Sandor was more widely known as "The Hound," a name he earned for his fierce nature and unquestioning obedience. He was a large and formidable man known for his dangerous skill as a fighter, but it was his face that struck fear in the hearts of those who looked upon him. The right side of his face had been badly burned as a child, leaving the flesh horribly twisted and scarred. He was used to people's reactions when they saw him; most averted their eyes when he looked their way, few were brave enough to stare.

The little prince had been unbearable since they returned from Winterfell. He smiled to himself as he recalled how Joffrey had mewled like a newborn kitten when the little Stark girl threw his sword into the river and set her direwolf on him. Now that he was betrothed to the elder Stark girl he was even worse, puffing up like a damned peacock when he thought she was watching. The redhead fawned over Joffrey like a lovesick fool; if only she knew how truly depraved he was she would run screaming from the city.

Joffrey continued on, his high, whining voice setting Sandor's nerves on edge. Sandor did his best to tune Joffrey out as they wove through the passages. Ser Meryn Trant walked along with them, offering the occasional "yes, my lord," in acknowledgement.

Joffrey turned his attention to the arrival of the Queen's Ward, the reason for their attendance today.

"They say the women of Bear Island are all hideous and wild. I hope Lady Syreena doesn't turn out to be too repulsive," Joffrey mused with a laugh, "if so, she'd be the perfect match for you, Dog."

Sandor's hands clenched in anger but he held his tongue. When they entered the throne room Lord Eddard was already there with his daughters. Joffrey's attention was temporarily averted to Sansa and Sandor was thankful for the reprieve. The Queen was standing with Myrcella and Tommen to the left of the Iron Throne, where King Robert sat uncomfortably. Lord Eddard stood beside him, speaking quietly with him.

"I've given him the pardon, Ned, my decision is final." Robert barked, "If he betrays me in this then you can hunt him down and have your justice. I'll hear no more on the matter."

Lord Eddard gave a small bow and left the platform to stand with his daughters. The Queen beckoned Joffrey to stand beside his father and Sandor followed, along with Ser Meryn. The King's Guard were all in their shining armor, white cloaks hanging to the floor. Sandor shook his head in contempt. He loathed the idea of lordships and knighthoods, and had vowed to never accept one.

The room began to fill with men and women from court, all dressed in their finery. They had all heard the same stories about the strange women of Bear Island and had come to see her for themselves, he realized. The image of a large, hairy woman clad in men's leathers and mail crossed his mind as the captain of the city watch entered, announcing to the King that the Mormonts had arrived in the city and were entering the Keep. A hushed murmur filled the room, all eyes fixed on the large wooden doors at the end of the room. Sandor shifted uncomfortably, wishing he could be free of his armor with a wine skin in one hand and a whore's ass in the other.

Soon the doors opened again, and the dozen gold cloaks Robert sent as an escort entered the room, followed by Jorah Mormont and the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She was walking beside him, hand lightly resting in his as he led her toward the throne. The gold cloaks stopped short, their leader coming forth to report to the king.

"We ran into some trouble with a wildling raiding party in the Wolfswood, there were casualties, none of our own were lost." He reported to the King. Sandor didn't hear the rest of what he was saying, all sound faded away as he studied the dark-haired beauty. Her modest wool dress was dark green, a stark contrast to her pale skin. Her hair was as black as coal, cascading down her back in waves. Her eyes were a cold green, her face expressionless. She was the same height as her brother, he noticed, tall for a woman. She was free of any ornaments, save for a wide metal belt around her waist. The women that stood surrounding her were all covered in jewels and precious metals, their bird's nest hair all done up in the Southron fashion. Even in their finery, none could compare to her simplistic beauty. Her gaze fell upon Sandor and their eyes locked; she did not turn away and her expression went unchanged. She slowly turned her emerald eyes back to King Robert as he addressed her.

"Welcome, Lady Syreena, to King's Landing." Robert spoke from the throne. "Introductions will come later, I'm sure you are weary from travel. Ser Meryn will show you to your chambers. The Queen will join you there shortly."

"Thank you, your Grace." She replied coolly, her voice even and strong.

He nodded in acknowledgement and stood, dismissing the gold cloaks with a wave of his hand. "Ser Jorah, you have kept your end of the bargain so far. Do not forget your promise. I will permit you to accompany Lady Syreena to her chambers and say your goodbyes, and then you'd best be on the next ship to Essos."

"Of course, your Grace. Thank you." Jorah gave a slight bow and followed as Syreena was led out of the Throne Room by Ser Meryn. Sandor couldn't help but feel slightly jealous that Ser Meryn was assigned to the Lady; he wasn't used to such feelings and quickly shrugged it off, following Joffrey out into the passage. The little prince was talking with his betrothed, once again on the topic of the upcoming tournament. He followed the little couple to the gardens, Joffrey boasting about his skill at jousting and sword fighting, Sansa drinking in every word. Annoyed, Sandor let his mind drift, thinking of dark hair and green eyes.

SYREENA followed the silent kingsguard down several passages and up a winding stairwell before stopping at an arched wooden door. She glanced down the hall to make note of the tapestries hanging nearby as a landmark. The knight opened the door and stepped back, allowing her to enter, followed by Jorah.

"I hope you'll be comfortable here. I know it's not—" she held up her hand, stopping her brother. She walked slowly around the room, looking out of the window.

"I did as you asked. I left my home. I came to King's Landing with you. Don't you dare speak of home to me." She said icily, staring him down from across the room. Jorah nodded silently, sadness filling his face. As he left, he stopped in the doorway, turning to look at his sister one last time.

"I have loved you since the day you were born." He whispered, "Leaving you behind will always be my greatest regret."

She turned quietly away and looked out over King's Landing, a tear sliding down her cheek.

"Then why are you doing it again?" She asked quietly, closing her eyes. Jorah didn't answer, he didn't have the strength. He slipped away quietly, wondering if he'd ever see his sister again. Syreena stood frozen at the window, listening to the sound of his footsteps fading down the hall. A light knock on the door interrupted her grief. She straightened up, wiped the tear from her cheek, and greeted her lady's maid, Rhea. The thin girl had mouse brown hair and a small, cheerful face. She opened Syreena's large chest and began laying out her clothes across the bed. Syreena listened quietly as Rhea chattered on about the Red Keep and all of the people who came and went. She was a good source of information, Syreena noted. She couldn't help but feel like a prisoner inside the castle and she knew she would need a friend. She began helping Rhea unpack, putting her belongings away in her new home. She took out her blades, sheathed and wrapped in a cloak, and hid them behind her bed. She picked up her silver brush and mirror and placed them on the small vanity by the window. She looked at herself in the mirror and saw the Queen standing behind her. Startled, she turned around to face her.

"Your Grace, I didn't hear you come in." She said quickly.

Queen Cersei smiled warmly, walking about the room. "I trust you're making yourself at home?" She asked.

"Yes, your Grace." She replied, watching Cersei.

Cersei paused beside the bed, looking over Syreena's frocks and gowns.

"Well, these just won't do." She said quietly, feeling the sleeve of one of the dresses, "we will have the dressmaker in shortly to measure you for something more appropriate." Cersei snapped her fingers and Rhea hurried off to send for the dressmaker.

"Thank you, your Grace. You are most kind." Syreena replied politely, clenching her fists at the subtle insult. Cersei turned and looked at her, sizing her up. Rhea returned breathlessly, curtsying at the door.

"Your Grace, my Lady, the dressmaker has arrived." She announced, showing an elderly woman through the door. The dressmaker curtsied to Cersei and assessed Syreena from a distance. The two women discussed colors and materials and necklines as though Syreena wasn't there. They came to an agreement and the woman began measuring Syreena with a length of rope. Cersei commissioned five new gowns in various colors and fabrics, and soon the dressmaker completed her task and left to begin making them. Cersei headed for the door, obviously pleased with herself.

"The King is holding a feast this evening in the Queen's Ballroom. A guard will escort you there." She said sweetly, "that plum gown will do for tonight." She added as she left the room. Rhea closed the door behind her, relieved to see the Queen leave. Syreena fumed silently and released her fists. The Queen's words were warm and welcoming, but Syreena detected the poison behind them. She immediately knew what her Aunt Maege meant when she said they would try to make her their pet. She remembered her words vividly: " _no gilded cage can hold a Bear."_

Repeating those words over and over in her mind, she began to prepare for the feast. Rhea drew a bath and poured scented oils in the warm water. She soaked in the tub for a while, breathing in the sweet floral scents. Rhea came in and helped her dry off and dressed her in the plum gown Cersei had chosen. Syreena considered wearing her black velvet frock as a show of defiance, but decided not to make an enemy of the Queen on her first day at court.

Rhea dried and brushed her hair and started to twist it up into an intricate southron updo. Syreena stopped her, determined to leave one part of herself unchanged. She took the time to show Rhea how she liked to wear it, two pieces from her temples braided together with the rest left to fall freely to her waist. As she looked in the mirror at Rhea's handiwork she vowed silently to never let herself be compromised. They would try to change who she was, the new dresses were just the start.

A knock at the door signaled the arrival of her escort and Rhea went to open the door. Syreena heard Rhea gasp slightly and turned to see what was happening. There in the doorway stood the scarred bodyguard she had seen that morning in the Throne Room. Rhea had told her about him, that Sandor Clegane, better known as "The Hound," was the Prince's sworn shield. It was clear that Rhea, along with most of the servants in the Keep, feared the large man. It was unclear to Syreena whether that was because of his face or his fearsome reputation. As she saw him she realized the Queen had sent him to try to frighten her, but Cersei would find that she didn't scare that easily.

She turned to the mirror once more and said aloud, "No gilded cage can hold a Bear," and headed for the door, a warm smile on her face.

SANDOR stepped aside to let Lady Syreena through the doorway, stunned at the friendly smile she gave him. He had grown used to the fearful reactions of the servants at the sight of him, but wasn't prepared for this beautiful woman to receive him so warmly.

"Thank you for the escort, Ser Clegane. I'm not certain I could find my way through these halls." She said with a smile. She gazed up at him, waiting for his response.

"I'm no Ser." He blurted, still stunned by her warmth.

Her smile faded, a cool expression settling on her face. "I am sorry if I offended you. What shall I call you?" She asked icily.

"Hound." He growled in reply and began walking down the hall. She walked beside him quietly, her hands clasped tightly together. Inwardly, he cursed himself for angering her, but it was for the best. He didn't have friends, and they were from very different worlds. He watched her in his periphery as they walked in silence. Her deep plum gown fit her well, strategically made to flatter her figure. The neckline was low and tight across the top of her pale breasts, the waistline was tapered to accentuate her slender waist and perfect hips. _The men will be pleased and the women will despise her_ , he thought to himself. They arrived in the hall outside the Queen's Ballroom too quickly.

"In that door." He said unceremoniously. Before she went in she turned and looked at him, their eyes locked.

"Thank you, Sandor." She replied coolly.

The sound of his name on her lips cut through him, raising goose flesh on his arms. He nodded slightly and left her to enter unaccompanied, heading for the Holdfast to escort the King and Queen and their children. When he joined Ser Meryn and the other guards he was thoroughly flustered, replaying his encounter with the dark-haired beauty over and over in his mind. As they followed the royal family's procession to the Ballroom, he shook her from his mind and resumed his dutiful concentration.

They entered the Ballroom through the large wooden doors. The King broke off immediately, heading for his seat at the high table. The Queen and her children moved slowly through the room, receiving the guests. Sandor and the rest of the guards moved to stand along the wall to the left, giving them the full view of the room and the people within. When he spotted her she was meeting the Princes and Princess. She was a head taller than Joffrey, who was stretching himself in a fruitless attempt to appear taller. Syreena ignored him, engaged in conversation with the Princess Myrcella. The golden-haired Princess latched on to Syreena, walking her around the room and introducing her to various knights and lords and ladies. Syreena was elegant and refined, greeting the ladies with a light kiss on each cheek, allowing the lords and knights to lightly kiss the back of her hand. She was amusing and intriguing to watch, the picture of propriety and beauty, while discreetly wiping the back of her hand on her dress after each round of introductions. When she felt she wasn't being watched, a blank expression fell over her features, interrupted by an occasional look of annoyance. She was different from the others, he thought. It was obvious to him that she was annoyed, but the drooling parade of people vying for her attention were completely oblivious.

SYREENA found a moment to excuse herself, anxious to break away from the prying questions and disingenuous smiles. She needed some air, a moment to collect her thoughts. She felt the suffocating feeling of being watched and quickly searched the room for a quiet exit, but instead found Sandor Clegane's face, his brown eyes watching her. Inexplicably flustered, she felt her cheeks flush as their eyes locked yet again. She broke her gaze and headed in the opposite direction toward a door in the corner of the room, not caring where it led. Her exit was interrupted by the sound of her name being called. She turned, smiling, and found Lord Eddard Stark and his two daughters approaching her. She greeted them warmly and Lord Eddard inquired on her family. All anxiety left her as they spoke, the Starks' presence reminding her of her home. The pretty Sansa was dressed in fine lavender damask, her hair done up in the intricate southron fashion. She was a striking beauty, her Tully hair and clear blue eyes set her apart from the other ladies. She gushed about her engagement to Prince Joffrey and excused herself politely to join him. The little Arya was obviously unhappy at the feast, uncomfortably dressed in her knotted frock. She felt an immediate kinship with the little girl, who informed Syreena that she much preferred to have a sword in her hand than attend a fancy party, much to her father's chagrin. Syreena really laughed for the first time since she left home and concurred with the child, who was delighted to meet a Lady who liked swordplay. She was immediately reminded of her little cousin Lyanna, and a feeling of homesickness washed over her. The Starks invited her to dine with them the following afternoon and she accepted whole-heartedly. Soon the feast was laid out on the tables and the crowd was finding their seats. Syreena was seated with Princess Myrcella, who went on about the various ladies and gentlemen in the Ballroom. The Princess dominated the conversation and was excitedly naming all of the knights who would be arriving within the week for the Hand's Tournament. Syreena listened politely as she ate, allowing the girl to chatter unabated. She let her mind wander, thinking of home. She wondered how her family was doing without her.

Her attention was ripped suddenly back when Myrcella began gossiping about Syreena's prospective suitors.

"How lucky you are to be here during a tournament!" She said happily. "Mother says you are likely to find a match among the competitors. You'll be married within the year!" She gushed. Syreena suddenly didn't feel well, her skin felt warm and her corset constricted her breath.

"Yes, how lucky." Syreena replied, dazed. She caught a glimpse of Cersei, who was smiling approvingly at her daughter. When her eyes met Syreena's, the smile turned to a smirk and she looked away casually. Syreena excused herself politely and left the Ballroom without a second glance. As soon as the doors closed behind her she broke into a run, heading in the direction of her chambers. She rounded the first corner and smashed face-first into something solid, falling backwards to the floor. Confused, she looked up and saw Sandor standing over her, a confused expression on his face.

"My Lady," He said uncomfortably, extending a hand, "the Queen asked me to escort you back to your chambers." Anger welled up inside her at the mention of Cersei.

"You can tell the Queen that I don't require an escort." She snapped, ignoring his outstretched hand. She stood, smoothing her dress. The pain in her right wrist was searing, but she refused to acknowledge it in front of him. She moved past him briskly, and he followed, his annoyance palpable. They walked in uncomfortable silence, Syreena's mind flooded with the memory of Myrcella's casual discussion of marriage. After a moment she realized that her anger and fear were unjustified; she had known this was her fate all along. Ladies didn't get to choose when and who they married. Their lives were decided for them.

When they reached the top of the stairwell she had calmed significantly, the pain in her hand and forearm throbbed. She stopped and looked at Sandor.

"I want to apologize for yelling before, I don't know what came over me." She said quietly, cradling her injured wrist. He didn't respond. He put his large hand on her back and pushed her lightly to continue on. Soon they reached her chamber door, and once again she spoke to him, gauging his reaction.

"Thank you, Sandor." She said calmly. He grunted a response she couldn't comprehend and opened the door. She brushed past him and went inside.

"Good night, My Lady." He said finally, closing the door behind her.

Finally alone, she let the flood of emotions hit her all at once. She stumbled to the window and collapsed in a heap in front of the ledge, silent sobs racking her body. She thought of her home, of her family. She felt trapped in this unfamiliar place with people who didn't care for her well-being. She wondered what kind of husband Cersei would force on her, whether he would be agreeable or if the spiteful woman would marry her off to a monster. After some time, she calmed down and picked herself up off the floor. She undressed and donned a thin shift nightgown, washed her face and brushed her hair. She was already half asleep when she climbed into bed.

SANDOR returned to his room and removed his dark battle-worn armor. He sat on the bed, too riled to sleep. He took out his sword and began sharpening it, soothed by the sound of stone against metal. His thoughts returned to the day's events, to the last meeting with the Mormont woman. He could still detect the faint scent of roses from their collision in the hallway. Still unable to find sleep, he left the Keep and headed for a brothel in search of wine and female companionship. He entered the first brothel he found and paid for a skin of wine. As he sat drinking, a young, dark-eyed brunette sat down on his lap, offering her services. He got up and let the brunette lead him away from the noise of men laughing and drinking and into a smaller, private room.

He sat down in the chair by the bed, drinking more wine. She slowly removed her thin wrap dress and straddled him on the chair, unlacing the front of his trousers. She took out his cock and stroked it slowly, then lowered herself onto him. She exhaled sharply when he entered her and began to grind her hips against him. He leaned back in the chair, letting the whore take over. She took his hands and placed them on her hips, moaning softly as she moved. He felt the effects of the wine taking over and closed his eyes. As he reached for climax, his eyes fluttered open. In place of dark eyes he saw bright green eyes looking back at him. He blinked, and Syreena had taken her place. He imagined her black hair undone, her pale skin shining with perspiration. Her green eyes flashed wildly as he found his pleasure. He blinked again and she was gone, the dark-eyed brunette still straddling him. Startled, he pushed the whore off of him and jumped up, lacing up his trousers. He threw coins onto the table and fled the brothel, deciding that he drank too much wine and needed to sleep.

He returned to his room, drunk and exhausted. He closed the door behind him and collapsed into bed, falling into a dreamless sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

SYREENA awoke with the sun shining on her face. She sat up, startled, realizing she was in her chamber in the Red Keep. She was unaccustomed to having such large, open windows, and made a note to remember to close the carved shutters before bed tonight. The sun was just rising in front of her east-facing windows, it was still early. She got out of bed and crossed the room to the window ledge and sat down on a cushion. She looked out over the city, trying to make sense of the tangle of streets and buildings. She sat there for hours, watching the sun come up. Soon Rhea arrived with a modest breakfast and started her chores, happily chatting as she worked. Syreena excused herself to the bathing room and soaked in the warm bath Rhea had drawn. All the tension from the previous night melted away, the floral scent filled the room and for the first time since her arrival, Syreena relaxed. Rhea gently washed her long, black hair and helped her out of the tub. Syreena pulled on a green robe and tied it at the waist, then sat at the vanity while Rhea brushed her hair until it gleamed.

There was a knock on the door and Rhea went to answer it. Cersei entered, followed by two servants laden with boxes. Cersei was wearing a silk wrap dress, crimson with gold trimmings. There were gold lions embroidered into the fabric at the shoulders, and she was wearing a gold belt with lions engraved in the metal. Her golden hair was loose, flowing down to her waist in waves with two small braids at the crown of her head. She surveyed Syreena and smiled.

"Good. I'm glad I caught you before you dressed. Your new gowns arrived this morning and I would love to see them on you. Would you mind?" She asked casually, gesturing to the boxes on the bed. Syreena rose from her seat with a smile and joined Cersei, who was opening the boxes. As much as she disliked the Queen, she couldn't hate these dresses. They were beautiful, each one made in a rich color that complimented Syreena's eyes and complexion. Cersei held the sixth box back, waiting to open it.

"Save the best for last," She said warmly, "I wanted to surprise you."

"Your Grace, they're absolutely beautiful. I don't know what to say." Syreena whispered. Cersei smiled as Syreena admired each one in turn.

Syreena and Rhea went behind the dressing curtain, trying on dress after dress. Cersei appraised Syreena in each gown, the same forced smile stuck to her lips. Syreena immediately noticed the catch. The gowns were specifically designed to draw a man's attention; sweeping necklines and tight bodices to accentuate her womanly figure. Cersei appeared to be proud of her handiwork.

The first one she tried on was an emerald green silk wrap with silver embroidery along the wide sleeves and bodice. There were delicate green fabric roses sewn along the low neckline. The second she tried on was a dark amethyst silk wrap that went over a lavender underdress. The wrap clasped in the front at her waist and fit her like a glove. The neckline was lower than the first, sweeping down into a 'v' shape at her breasts. The third was her personal favorite, a flowing damask gown the color of sea foam. The pale green fabric had a slight sheen to it, shimmering in the sunlight from the window. The neckline was cut dangerously low, exposing the tops of her full breasts. The bodice was tight through the waist, accentuating her hips. The thin sleeves hugged her arms all the way to her wrists, with long flowing oversleeves hanging loosely from the shoulder, giving the dress an ethereal and feminine look. The fourth was a solid black silk gown with a black lace collar that reached from the bust to her neck. Of all the gowns she tried on this one was the most modest, and yet Cersei had still been able to find a way to make it revealing without being improper. The fifth was a deep plum gown with a low draping neckline, with open sleeves flowing freely from the shoulder, leaving her pale arms bare. The plum fabric gradually darkened at the bottom of the gown, fading into black.

Finally it was time to open the sixth box. When Cersei opened it and held the dress up, Syreena's breath caught in her throat. Cersei had commissioned her wedding gown. Trembling with anxiety, she put the dress on. It was made with several layers of thin, silvery fabric that flowed out at the slightest breeze. It was lightweight, with delicate silver flowers all over it. The bust was tight, pushing her pale breasts upward. The capped sleeves were delicately beaded and very short, leaving her arms bare. She stared at her reflection in horror, realizing that she would be married off sooner than she had hoped. Cersei crossed the room quietly, placing a small silver tiara on her head with a thin veil hanging down her back.

"I took the liberty of having this made for you, I hope you don't mind." She crooned. "You certainly will make a beautiful bride." She stood back and admired her handiwork.

"Thank you, your Grace." Syreena choked, still stunned.

Cersei smiled and removed the tiara, placing it back in the box. "Now we just need to find you a suitable match." Her casual words cut Syreena like knives, tears threatened to spill. She went back behind the dressing curtain quickly, anxious to get the delicate silver dress back into the box. Rhea folded it carefully and laid it in the box for her, placing the lid on top. Syreena put on the dark emerald dress and Rhea clasped her metal belt around her waist.

"Knights and lords will begin arriving for the Hand's Tournament today, I expect. I imagine your future husband will be among them." Cersei called out as she prepared to take her leave. Syreena stepped out from behind the curtain as Cersei was opening the door. "Do make more of an effort with your hair tomorrow." she added, "This plain look just won't do if you want to hold their attention." She purred, turning and leaving the room without waiting for a response.

Syreena stood there for a moment, boiling with anger. When she heard Cersei's footsteps die off down the hall she dug her nails into her palms and walked briskly out of the chamber, headed in the opposite direction as Cersei. She met Sandor in the doorway but did not stop or acknowledge him. She pushed past him as hard as she could and broke into a run. She didn't know where she was going, she just needed to get away. Confused, Sandor followed.

SANDOR called out to her several times, but she did not answer. She was frantic, narrowly missing several servants carrying trays and baskets as they went about their morning chores. Her black hair streamed wildly behind her as she fled. She found an enclosed spiral stairwell to her right and went up, Sandor taking the opportunity to gain on her. He took the stairs three at a time and caught her before she reached the landing, grabbing her arm and spinning her around. Much to his surprise she began to swing at him with her fists, fighting like a wildcat to escape his grasp. He secured a hold on her other arm and shook her violently, bringing her back from her fit of rage.

"What in the Seven Hells is wrong with you?" He roared angrily, shaking her. Her hands fell and she looked up at him, her green eyes blazing with fury. Angry tears began to fall down her flushed cheeks. He held her at arm's length for a moment, unsure if she would run again if he let her go. He decided to take her to a secluded part of the Keep where she could gather her thoughts away from prying eyes.

"Come this way." He said gruffly, turning her around and pushing her up the stairs. He led her two floors up and down an empty hallway. He found a large solar with arched doorways that led out to a balcony and led her inside, shutting the door behind them. The room was empty, this part of the Keep was not being used by anyone. Syreena stood in the middle of the room, hugging herself tightly. She wept uncontrollably as Sandor watched uncomfortably from the doorway. He didn't know what to say or do. He didn't know why she was so upset, but he was certain that blonde cunt Cersei was behind it. He suddenly felt a strong urge to sweep her up in his arms and carry her far away from King's Landing. He had never felt anything like it before, this primal impulse to protect her at all costs.

Syreena cried for several minutes, never moving or speaking a word. Eventually the crying slowed and stopped, she took a few deep breaths to calm her emotions. She wiped the tears from her cheeks as she walked to the balcony door and went outside. Sandor followed at a distance, keeping watch over her. She walked to the ledge and leaned against it, her forearms resting on the sun-warmed stone. For a few moments she just stood there, looking out over the city. He watched her intently, studying her features. His eyes roamed over her, taking in every detail. Her thick black hair fell loosely over her shoulders in waves, her pale cheeks still tinged pink. The green silk gown matched her eyes perfectly and flattered her figure. Her full breasts pushed against the neckline with every breath she took. He remembered how he had imagined her last night in the brothel, wild and beautiful. He was overwhelmed with desire as he watched her, and considered taking her right there on the balcony. She glanced his way, her gaze bringing him back to reality.

"I need to apologize for my behavior." She said, blushing a deep shade of red. "I really don't know what came over me..."

"The Queen? I saw her leaving your chambers this morning." Sandor interrupted, moving to stand next to her at the ledge. He waited for her to move away, the response was accustomed to; but she remained there next to him. She looked down at her hands, biting her lip. He watched her from the corner of his eye, waiting for a response.

"Cersei plans to sell me off like a broodmare to one of the knights competing in the Hand's Tournament." She said suddenly, her hands clenching into fists. "She's already had my wedding gown made. She brought it to my chambers this morning."

Sandor felt his anger rise inexplicably, jealousy surged through him like Wildfire. He realized he was getting too close and he tried to shrug it off. She could never be his, and he knew that. He'd lost his damn mind for even thinking it could be a possibility.

"Lord Eddard will be expecting you." He said abruptly, walking back into the solar. She stood there for a moment, confused, then followed him out.

SYREENA walked beside Sandor quietly, confused at his sudden change in demeanor. He had helped her in her time of need, had taken her to a quiet place where she could collect her thoughts. She felt she could trust him, and had opened up to him. His mood had soured instantaneously, and as they walked to the Tower of the Hand a permanent scowl had settled on his face. She gazed up at him cautiously, trying to understand what she had said to offend him. Soon they arrived at Lord Stark's solar and Sandor raised his hand to knock on the wooden door. Syreena grabbed his arm suddenly, stopping him. He looked down at her, surprised.

"I really appreciate what you did for me today. If there is any way that I can repay your kindness, please let me." She said quietly, watching his brown eyes, gauging his reaction. He did not speak, his expression did not change. He grabbed her hand lightly, pulling it away from his arm. He knocked on the door wordlessly, and with one last glance at Syreena he turned and left her standing there.

"Thank you, Sandor." She called out, her voice clear and strong. She saw his shoulders tense slightly at the sound of his name and smiled to herself as Lord Stark opened the solar door and invited her in.

She was greeted warmly by Lord Eddard and his daughters. They had a lovely luncheon, talked all about the North and their families. The beautiful Sansa gushed about her gallant Prince, the feisty Arya talked animatedly about her water dancing. Syreena enjoyed herself thoroughly, feeling a little closer to home in their presence. Lunch was over too soon, and the girls were both off to their afternoon activities.

"My Lord, do you have a moment to speak with me about something?" She asked as he led her to the solar door.

"Of course, Lady Syreena. Is something wrong?" He replied, concern spreading over his face. She told him of Cersei's plans for her imminent engagement and expressed her concerns about what kind of man Cersei would choose for her. Lord Eddard frowned, anger spreading across his face. He explained that there was nothing he could do to stop an arranged marriage, but that he would not allow Cersei to promise Syreena to anyone without his approval. She trusted Lord Stark and his opinion. He personally knew all of the knights that were coming to King's Landing and assured her that he could vouch for many of them as good men.

"If I may offer you some advice, never forget who you really are. You are Syreena Mormont; the niece of the great She-Bear herself." He said with a warm smile. When she headed back to her chambers, she felt a newfound sense of strength and control. It was time to embrace her warrior nature, and no matter who Cersei tried to marry her off to, she knew Lord Stark would keep his promise.

SANDOR shadowed Joffrey for the rest of the day. His angry scowl intimidating all who crossed his path. Even Joffrey was careful not to cross him. He was currently posted outside of Joffrey's chamber door, left to his own thoughts. He couldn't get Syreena out of his mind. When the first knights had begun to arrive in the city, he replayed the morning's events in his mind, her words cutting into him . His imagination suddenly ran wild as he thought about it. He saw Syreena being paraded in front of men like a prize to be won; he saw them kissing her hand and asking for her favor before the joust. He saw her watching the tournament, wondering which Knight she would fret over, which one would win her heart. He imagined her in a wedding gown, climbing the steps to the Sept of Baelor. He thought about her wedding night and he cringed. The thought of another man touching her infuriated him. His hand tightened on the hilt of his sword as he tried to push the feelings away.

The emotions confused him. He had never felt passionately about anyone. He knew he had to ignore his impulses, she wasn't his to claim. No matter how many times he tried to force himself to forget, the feelings would come creeping back when his guard was down. He would never have her. He wasn't a handome lord or a gallant knight. He was The Hound; a monstrous brute with a horribly disfigured face. For many years he had accepted that he would never know love, that no woman would be able to see past his twisted flesh. Syreena was the only person he'd ever known who could make eye contact with him without showing any sign of fear or disgust.

His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of the Queen. Joffrey was being fitted for new doublets and she needed to supervise the process. She walked past Sandor without acknowledging his presence and went in, shutting the door behind her. He wanted to grab her by the throat and watch the life leave her eyes, but he settled for cursing her under his breath. He listened to them speaking back and forth, Joffrey whining and his mother crooning in reply. The boy was going to be a king and she still talked to him like he was a toddler. There was no wondering why King Robert was at his wit's end with the lot of them.

Soon Cersei reappeared in the hall and dismissed Sandor for the day, apparently Joffrey needed to rest before the tournament tomorrow. He nodded and quickly left Maegor's Holdfast before she could change her mind. He walked around the castle, not wanting to retire so early. He did not have a particular destination in mind, but somewhere deep down he knew he was looking for her. After almost an hour of searching, he found her in an empty hallway. She was seated on a window ledge overlooking Blackwater Bay, reading an old book. She didn't notice his presence, and he watched her for a few moments as she read. The door at the other end of the hallway opened slowly, Sandor stepped back behind the corner to hide.

He heard a man's voice. "Ah, Lady Syreena. Here you are, I've been looking for you."

"Yes, here I am. Who might you be?" She asked coolly. Sandor looked around the corner and saw Littlefinger standing over her at her seat on the ledge.

"Lord Petyr Baelish." Littlefinger replied, "but please, call me Petyr."

"We're not that familiar, Lord Baelish." She snapped. "What is it I can help you with?"

Littlefinger looked unsettled but quickly recovered, moving to sit opposite her on the ledge. She stared him down as he sat, her emerald eyes cold and unrelenting. He cleared his throat slightly and spoke again, more sickly sweet honey in his voice.

"It's not what you can help me with, but rather what I can help you with." He riddled, "I understand that Cersei is arranging a marriage for you. What are your feelings on that, I wonder?"

She squinted slightly, studying Littlefinger. "I don't suppose that my feelings on the matter are any of your business, but I'll bite. What could you possibly do for me?" She asked.

"Whatever you asked of me, my Lady. I am a powerful man with certain 'talents.' I would be yours to command." He said softly. "What do you desire most, Lady Syreena?" He crowed. Sandor was ready to charge out from his hiding place and slit Littlefinger's throat but she spoke again.

"At the moment, peace and quiet." She replied calmly. "You're a clever man. I have no need for clever manipulations. Good day, Lord Baelish."

"Lady Syreena..." he started impatiently. She held up her hand, interrupting him abruptly.

"I know all about you, Lord Baelish. Your reputation precedes you. I know your ' _favors_ ' always come with a price. " She replied icily, glaring at him. He opened his mouth again, but she stopped him, her voice piercing the quiet like a knife. "Before you speak again, hear me: Consider your unsolicited offer refused." He stood, uncomfortable, and walked back toward the door.

"Oh, Lord Baelish, you should know that I also possess certain ' _talents_ ,' and if you approach me again you won't live to speak of it." She threatened, not bothering to look back at him. Her voice was dangerously low and calm. Littlefinger nodded silently, and left in defeat.

Sandor stayed in his hiding place for a moment, shocked at what he'd just witnessed. She was like a different person, and he was hard just thinking about her. He watched her as she flipped the book over in her hand restlessly. She stood suddenly and threw it at the wall with as much force as she could, filled with anger and frustration.

"What in the Seven Hell's did that book do to you, little Bear?" He asked as he stepped out from his hiding place. She turned and locked eyes with him, flushed a deep shade of crimson, and quickly picked the book up from the floor.

"Sandor, I wasn't expecting you." She said, obviously flustered. "I thought you were recalled to guard Joffrey?" Her hands were shaking, her green eyes studying his face. She was wondering how much he overheard, he realized. He smirked down at her. She squared off to him, staring him down. He liked this new side of Syreena; it was turning him on.

"The little Prince needed a nap." He said, watching her. "I'm more interested in hearing about your ' _talents.'"_ He said playfully. She blushed again, a smirk crossing her full lips.

"You heard everything, then." She asked calmly, sitting back down on the ledge. She maintained steady eye contact with him, her expression calm. "Before you cast your judgement for my behavior, I only did what was necessary. That man is a _serpent._ He had to be dealt with harshly or else I would never be rid of him." She explained quickly, gesturing in the direction that Littlefinger had gone. He remained silent, smirking at her. He had her cornered, her frustration was close to boiling over. " _Why_ are you looking at me like that?" She asked, flustered.

"What changed? This morning you were crying your bloody eyes out and now you're scaring the piss out of grown men." He replied, watching her shift uncomfortably. She stood up from the ledge again, took a few steps toward him. She seemed taller than before, filled with confidence.

"I took control of my situation." She said, crossing her arms, "I was simply reminded of something I already knew. ' _No gilded cage can hold a Bear.'"_


	4. Chapter 4

***I hope you've all enjoyed it this far! To those of you who favorited my story, thank you! This chapter was difficult, I did use some direct quotes from ' _A Game of Thrones'_ for the storyline. I know how hard it is to wait for new chapters to my favorite stories, so I am trying to write some every day to get new chapters released to you as quickly as possible. Please, please, please write a review!!! I want to know where I need to improve, or what you like best about my writing. Thank you all!!!***

 **Chapter 4**

" _No gilded cage can hold a Bear."_ Her Aunt Maege's words came clear and strong, giving her courage. She had only been in King's Landing for a few days and yet Cersei had made it feel like a lifetime. She was done feeling like a prisoner here, and though she knew her fate was sealed she had decided not to let the Queen or anyone else play her for a fool. Lord Baelish had attempted to pull her into one of his schemes and she doubted he would ever try again. She felt a fire burning inside of her and she liked it; it made her feel powerful.

She watched Sandor as he looked out over the Blackwater, really looking at his rough features for the first time. He had a dark complexion, likely from spending a lot of time in the sun. His broad face was battle-worn and his nose appeared to have been broken a time or two. He had a strong jaw that was covered by a thick, dark beard. His brown hair was shoulder length and unkempt, with a few pieces hanging purposefully over the large burn scar that covered the right side of his face. He was an imposing figure, one of the few men she had ever known that was significantly taller than she was. Everything about his appearance was meant to intimidate and keep people at a distance, but his warm brown eyes seemed to invite her in. Despite his angry countenance, she noticed that he was actually handsome in a rugged way and the angry red scar seemed to fade in her mind. She was suddenly aware of how close they were to each other and briefly wondered how it would feel to be wrapped in his strong arms. The notion shocked her and she pushed it away quickly. 

"Are you afraid of me, girl?" He asked abruptly, his eyes scanning her face. 

"No. Should I be?" She asked back, staring him down. He took a step toward her, his face inches from hers. She held her ground, her heart threatening to beat out of her chest. A smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth and he suddenly backed away. 

"Yes. You should be." He growled in reply. Without another word he turned and left the corridor. Her heart was beating wildly as she watched him go. When he turned the corner and disappeared from view she realized she had been holding her breath. She quickly left the corridor and headed for her chamber, careful not to run into anyone on the way there. 

She entered her chamber, breathless, and closed the door behind her. She leaned back against it and closed her eyes, still reeling from their encounter. She replayed it over in her mind, trying to make sense of her feelings. His nearness had exhilarated her, and now she felt an emptiness in his absence. She was confused and frustrated and had nobody to talk to about these feelings. A knock on the door interrupted her inner turmoil and she opened it warily. Rhea was there with her dinner tray, Ser Meryn Trant behind her. 

"Ser Meryn needed to see that you were here, my Lady. The Queen asked that you retire early this evening in preparation for tomorrow's joust." Rhea announced fearfully. She was afraid of him and Syreena could easily see why; he was a hulking, emotionless man with a permanent scowl on his face.

"Well Ser Meryn can easily see that I am here, and I can assure him I won't be leaving my room for the remainder of the evening." Syreena said coldly, pulling Rhea into the room. "Satisfied?" She added angrily to Ser Meryn and slammed the door in his face. She heard him mutter something under his breath and stomp away. 

She had yet to meet any knights that were truly honorable; Sandor seemed to be the only man in King's Landing that she could trust, and it was rumored that he held nothing but contempt for knighthood and refused to accept the honor. As the thought crossed her mind she realized that his current station was too far below hers to be considered a suitable match. Her feelings were still a mystery to her, but she knew now that she'd better forget them completely. Rhea looked at her with wide eyes, still holding the tray.

"What's the matter? Are you ill?" She asked the girl abruptly. 

"No, my Lady. Just surprised, is all." Rhea replied, snapping out of her trance. She put the tray on the table and uncovered Syreena's dinner and prepared the table setting. "I've never seen anyone speak to Ser Meryn like that. He'll be angry you slammed the door on him." She said worriedly. Syreena sat down and have Rhea a facetious smile.

"If slamming a door upset Ser Meryn that much then he'd better get a thicker skin." Syreena replied. She wasn't afraid of Ser Meryn. She wasn't afraid of any man. She ate her dinner quietly, then let Rhea wash her hair and put it up in tight, twisted braids for the night. She readied for bed, and fell into a restless slumber. 

_The stone floors were cold on her bare feet as she ran down the corridor. A darkness pursued her, though she could not make out what it was. She fled down the hall in her nightgown, passing a large open window. The moon was high in the night sky, softly illuminating the rooftops of King's Landing. Suddenly she tripped on the hem of her sheer nightgown and fell to the floor, pain shooting up through her hands and arms. A dark shadow loomed in the hall, filling her with panic. She scrambled to her feet and tried to flee, but found that she could not run. She felt a pair of hands grab her wrists and suddenly her back was against the wall. She tried to scream, but the sound was caught in her throat. The man held her wrists with his hands, restraining her. His grip loosened slightly and she calmed immediately, watching as his face came slowly into focus. She gasped, realizing that Sandor Clegane was looming over her, their faces inches apart. His eyes raked over her, and his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her into him. At first she resisted, struggling weakly against him. She knew he could easily overpower her, but instead he gently held her against him, waiting for a sign of her consent. A strange desire came over her and eventually she gave in, her hands reaching up and resting on his broad shoulders. A small smile crossed his lips as he pressed them to hers._

Syreena sat straight up in bed, breathless. It was the early morning, the sun sitting just above the horizon. She looked quickly around the room, making certain that she was alone. She laid back down, breathing deeply to calm her nerves. She silently reminded herself that it had been a dream, yet she could still feel his arms holding her, his lips kissing hers. She laid there for a while, staring at the ceiling. _"Have I gone completely mad?"_ She wondered, letting her mind wander. She knew these feelings were dangerous. Cersei would see her thrown out into the streets if she thought something had happened between them, Gods only knew what she would do to Sandor. She got up and walked to the window. As she calmed down her thoughts became clearer and she convinced herself that Sandor had never given any indication that he desired her, that her subconscious had attached to him in an attempt to defy Cersei. It was the only explanation that made sense. She resolved to forget her dream and the ridiculous notion that Sandor cared for her in any way. He was simply doing as he was ordered and she felt foolish for thinking he could possibly feel anything for her. 

She could see the countless pavilions in the distance, raised for the day's festivities. She tried to imagine what the day would hold for her. She tried to envision meeting eligible lords and knights, watching the joust, and feasting with potential suitors. The thought left her with nothing but an empty feeling in her stomach. How could she entertain prospective suitors when her heart wasn't in it? She didn't want to be married off to a stranger. She had always hoped she'd be able to marry for love. Anger and frustration rose within her and she clenched her fists. She was looking around the room for something to throw when Rhea knocked softly on the chamber door. 

"Milady? Oh! You're up!" She said pleasantly. Syreena was quickly distracted by Rhea's excited chatter. She talked animatedly about the tournament as she drew Syreena's bath, pouring oils and flower petals into the steaming water. Syreena considered ordering her to be silent, but she let her chatter on. Everyone in the city had been anxiously awaiting this day; tournaments were supposed to be exciting, but Syreena felt like a prisoner being dragged to a cell. She quietly bathed, trying to relax in the warm water. Her nerves were on edge, her hands trembled constantly. When she was finished she dried off, donned her green robe, and sat at her vanity. Rhea let down her black hair from the twisted braids and gently ran her fingers through the shiny curls they had created. Rhea took 4 pieces from the top half of Syreena's hair and braided them into an intricate knot at the crown of her head. She left the rest to fall freely down Syreena's back in voluminous waves. Rhea brought over a folded cloth and unwrapped it, revealing a delicate silver hair band set with large emeralds. Rhea took it out and placed it carefully in Syreena's hair. The jewels and silver shone brightly against her black hair. She helped Syreena into the sea green damask gown, and fastened an emerald necklace around her neck. Syreena gazed at her reflection quietly, amazed at Rhea's skill. She had never been dressed so fine; there had never been an occasion for such finery on Bear Island. She thanked Rhea and left her chamber and Ser Meryn escorted her down to the castle gate. When they stepped outside she saw three litters with curtained windows waiting to take them past the city walls. The Queen rode in the first with her children, Sansa Stark rode in the second with her Septa and another young girl she didn't recognize. Syreena had the third to herself. When Cersei's cold eyes met Syreena's she surveyed her from head to toe and turned away without a word and climbed into the litter. She was helped into her own and soon they were being carried through the city. The air was close inside the tight cabin, yet Syreena did not open the curtain. She felt safe inside, alone with her thoughts. For the moment she was not on display, though she knew as soon as they arrived she would be forced to smile prettily as strange men surveyed and appraised her like an object to be bought and sold. She was sickened by the idea, but her thoughts were interrupted by their arrival at the riverbank. They were escorted to a large raised platform with several tiers,The King was already seated in a large chair at the top. Cersei took the chair at his side and their children were seated just below them. She was taken to her seat at the bottom tier, strategically located in the center of the platform at the rail. There was certainly no escaping her fate, Cersei had been sure to seat her as close to the field as she could. Syreena looked around her casually, looking for a friendly face. She found Sansa Stark sitting on the first bench to her right, enough space between them to fit ten people. Soon the riders began to enter the field, their armor glinting in the sun, cloaks streaming out behind them. The Hound was among them, riding a large stallion. His armor was dull and battle-worn, his broadsword sheathed on his back. When she caught sight of him her breath caught in her throat. 

SANDOR loathed the pomp and circumstance of the tournament. As he rode out onto the field among the knights and squires a glint of green caught his eye on the raised dais. She was there, front and center. Her black hair was shining in the sunlight, a strong contrast to her pale skin. He looked her over, pleased by the way the pale green dress fit across her breasts. She was radiant, wearing green jewels in her hair and at her throat. Her bright green eyes locked with his and he sat up a little straighter on his horse. The competition began and Sandor watched Syreena from a distance as the horses thundered down the field, lances exploding violently as they found their mark. Ladies seated with her on the dais all covered their eyes or cried out as competitors crashed together, but Syreena's cool gaze seemed detached. Her expression went unchanged, her green eyes fixed on the match. He noticed suddenly that her concentration was broken as Lord Bryce Caron rode slowly up to the dais and stopped in front of her. A look of shock swept over her face briefly, but she quickly regained her composure. He held out a single rose to her, and she walked forward to the railing to accept it. Jealousy rose within him as he watched, and when Lord Bryce gently kissed her hand, Sandor's blood boiled. The crowd cheered, and Lord Bryce rode to the gate, smiling like a fool. He rode against the Kingslayer, Jaime Lannister, who easily unseated him on the first pass. Sandor hated the Kingslayer, but was satisfied by his victory against Lord Bryce. Sandor angrily rode down foe after foe, avoiding Syreena's gaze as he competed. He watched as his brother, Ser Gregor, rode against a young knight from the Vale. Ser Gregor's lance rose slightly and struck the knight under the gorget, driving the lance through his throat. The young knight fell to the dirt, blood spurting with each fading heartbeat. Ladies screamed in terror and then a hush fell over the audience. He glanced quickly at Syreena, and found her seated calmly, her hands in her lap, a distant look on her face. She looked at the fallen knight for a moment, and then at Ser Gregor. She watched The Mountain ride away, her calm expression giving way to fury. They removed the boy's body from the field and shoveled sand over his spilt blood. Ser Gregor went on to defeat Ser Balon Swann, and soon it was Sandor's match against Renly Baratheon, the King's brother. 

Sandor unseated Lord Renly violently, and when he fell he landed on his head, breaking one of the golden antlers on his helm. When he rose, the crowd cheered loudly. He picked up the broken piece and handed it to Sandor, bowing. Annoyed, Sandor tossed the piece into the common crowd, creating a small riot amongst them. He rode away, leaving Renly alone to pacify them. They competed all day and well into dusk, and by the end of the day's joust there were 4 competitors left; Sandor, Ser Gregor, the Kingslayer, and Ser Loras Tyrell, the Knight of the Flowers. Ser Loras had given Syreena a white rose earlier in the day, but Sandor didn't give it much thought, dismissing the curly-haired cunt for the "pillow biter" he was. Ser Loras had been handing out white roses to all the highborn ladies seated on the dais for most of the day, and after unseating Robar Royce he rode again to the audience, a red rose in his hand. Sandor eyed him menacingly until he rode past Syreena and stopped in front of the elder Stark girl, who accepted the rose with a simpering smile. The King declared the last three matches would continue in the morning, and the crowd dispersed. The commons went back to the city, and the court convened at the riverside for the feast. There were tables and benches outside the pavilions, the food laid out for the guests. Sandor resumed his watch over Prince Joffrey, while his eyes roamed the crowd for Syreena. When he found her, she was being formally introduced to Lord Bryce Caron by Renly Baratheon. Lord Bryce kissed her hand again, and Sandor's hand tightened on his sword hilt. He watched as Lord Bryce led her to a table and helped her into the seat beside him. He sat with Ser Loras, Lord Renly, and several highborn women who were all vying for Ser Loras' attention. They all threw themselves at Loras and Renly, gushed about their gallantry, and giggled loudly at their jokes. Syreena was a sharp contrast to the coquettish idiots. She quietly observed her surroundings, nodding graciously when she was spoken to. She was obviously irritated, her forced smile fading to a frown as the night went on. The men began talking animatedly among themselves, and she excused herself, standing. Lord Bryce shot out of his seat and asked if she needed an escort back to the Keep. She declined, letting him kiss her hand. Lord Bryce watched her walk away, disappointment covering his face. Renly and Loras brought his attention back to the feast, seemingly congratulating him on his prize. They slapped him heartily on the back and laughed loudly amongst themselves, unaware that Sandor watched, longing to kill each one of them. He heard shouting suddenly erupt from the high table, and his thoughts were interrupted. The King was yelling at Cersei, his face red from too much wine. He had decided to fight in the melee in tomorrow's tournament and she attempted to stop him, resulting in an embarrassing outburst. The Kingsguard moved to interfere, and the Queen stormed off, her lady's maids trailing behind her. As the men tried to calm him, King Robert grew angrier and screamed petulantly, shoving Jaime Lannister down and spilling wine on himself. Joffrey ordered Sandor to escort Sansa Stark back to the Keep, and walked away. Sandor pulled the fearful girl from her seat. 

"Come, you're not the only one who needs sleep. I've drunk too much, and I may need to kill my brother tomorrow." He laughed. Her eyes widened in fear and she followed behind him. They walked along the bank of the river, through the pavilions.

"You rode gallantly today, Ser Sandor." He heard her say in a small voice. His temper flared and he scoffed at her. 

"Spare me your empty little compliments, girl...and your _ser's._ I am no knight. I spit on them and their vows. My brother is a knight. Did you see him ride today?" He snarled. 

"Yes," she whispered, "He was..."

"Gallant?" He finished.

She was quiet for a moment, then answered, "No one could withstand him."

He stopped abruptly, turning to her. "Some septa trained you well. You're like one of those birds from the Summer Isles, aren't you? A pretty little talking bird, repeating all the pretty little words they taught you to recite." He snarled mockingly. 

"That's unkind." She replied quietly, pouting. "You're frightening me. I want to go now."

 _"No one could withstand him_ ," he growled, " that's true enough. No one could ever withstand Gregor. That boy today, his second joust, oh, that was a pretty bit of business. You saw that, did you? Fool boy, he had no business riding in this company. No money, no squire, no one to help him with that armor. That gorget wasn't fastened proper. You think Gregor didn't notice that? You think _Ser_ Gregor's lance rode up by chance, do you? Pretty little talking girl, you believe that, you're empty-headed as a bird for true. Gregor's lance goes where Gregor wants it to go." He snarled angrily, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. 

" _Sandor_." Syreena called out, her voice low and soothing. He was surprised, unaware that she had walked up to them. She laid her hand on his forearm, and he turned to face her. He expected her to be angry with him, but instead he found a look of concern on her face. She gently squeezed his forearm and his temper cooled instantly. She turned her attention to Sansa, a warm smile on her face. "Do you mind if I walk with you back to the Keep?" She asked politely. Sansa nodded, obviously happy to have her there. Syreena gestured for Sansa to walk ahead and glanced up at Sandor for a moment, then they fell in behind her, walking past the pavilions. His anger still simmering, he walked with them in silence. It was only when they reached the city gate that he realized she was still gently holding onto his arm. 

SYREENA walked along beside Sandor, neither of them spoke. He had lost his temper with the Stark girl and she thanked the Gods she had been able to calm him down before the poor girl ran screaming. She wondered what had possessed him to yell at Sansa like that but she was suddenly distracted, thinking about how nice it felt to walk with him this way. She smiled to herself and adjusted her arm so it was gently hooked with his. He stiffened slightly, and she was surprised that he didn't pull his arm away. Just inside the city, a line of carts waited to carry courtiers back to the castle. Sandor led them to the closest one and he helped both Sansa and Syreena climb into it. Sansa sat at the front, her back to the driver, Syreena sat opposite to her, facing the front. Sandor climbed in behind them, ordered the driver to take them to the Red Keep and took the seat beside Syreena. None of them spoke, but Syreena noticed Sansa watching the two of them in astonishment. When Syreena met her gaze, Sansa smiled awkwardly and looked away, her face reddening. They arrived at the castle and went inside, following Sansa up winding stairs and long corridors to the Tower of the Hand. Once they saw her safely to the tower, she thanked them politely and climbed the stairs, disappearing into the darkness. They left the Tower and began the journey to Syreena's chamber. They walked the empty halls without speaking for several long minutes. Finally, Syreena broke the awkward silence. 

"I've been meaning to congratulate you. You rode well today." She said quietly .

"I'm delighted you think so." He scoffed sarcastically. She stopped abruptly and turned to face him. Her temper was simmering, the stress of the day coming to a head. 

"Have I offended you in some way?" She asked angrily. He stopped and glared at her, his eyes blazing. If he was looking for a fight, she was prepared to give him one.

"Save your flattery for your gallant Lord Bryce." He growled. Syreena felt heat rising in her cheeks. She clenched her fists, her temper threatening to boil over. They stared each other down, neither willing to yield.

"Did you enjoy the show today?" He rasped menacingly. "Tell me, did you like watching that boy choke on his own blood after my brother murdered him?" He stepped closer as he spoke, looming over her. "Would you say the same to Gregor if he were here with you? Did he ' _ride well_ ' today?" He growled. She stood her ground, staring up at him. He was trying to intimidate her, but her courage was fueled by her fury. She stepped toward him aggressively, causing him to lean back slightly. 

"Yes, I watched Gregor kill that knight. I saw the light leave his eyes as his blood soaked the dirt. If you think you can frighten me, Sandor Clegane, you are sorely mistaken." She snapped, poking his chest with her finger. "I fear no man, not you, not Ser Meryn, not even The Mountain." She yelled, her clear voice filling the hall. 

SANDOR stepped closer, backing her up to the wall. His large hands rested against the stone, one on either side of her head. His face was inches from hers. "If that's true, you're not as smart as I thought you were." He growled, his voice barely above a whisper. "Want to know how I got this pretty scar? How I became this _monster_?" He asked. She didn't answer. "I was six, maybe seven. A woodcarver set up shop in the village under my father's keep, and to buy favor he sent us gifts. The old man made marvelous toys. I don't remember what I got, but it was Gregor's gift I wanted. A wooden knight, all painted up, every joint pegged separate and fixed with strings, so you could make him fight." His eyes never left hers as he spoke. "Gregor is five years older than me, the toy was nothing to him, he was already a squire, near six foot tall and muscled like an ox. So I took his knight, but there was no joy to it, I tell you. I was scared all the while, and true enough, he found me. There was a brazier in the room. Gregor never said a word, just picked me up under his arm and shoved the side of my face down in the burning coals and held me there while I screamed and screamed. You saw how strong he is. Even then, it took three grown men to drag him off me. The septons preach about the seven hells. What do they know? Only a man who's been burned knows what hell is truly like." He broke off, his eyes searching hers for some hint of fear, but he didn't find any. "My father told everyone my bedding had caught fire, and our maester gave me ointments. _Ointments!"_ He roared, startling Syreena. "Gregor got his ointments, too. Four years later, they anointed him with the seven oils and he recited his knightly vows and Rhaegar Targaryen tapped him on the shoulder and said, 'Arise, Ser Gregor.'" He growled bitterly. 

Syreena stared up at him, her green eyes were burning like Wildfire. Intense desire met his anger and the emotions overwhelmed him. She was breathing heavily, her breasts pressing tightly against the top of her dress with each breath. He longed to touch her, but instead he backed away slowly. He could never have her; she was Lord Caron's, or at least he figured she would be after tomorrow. His anger threatened to boil again. He cleared his throat and looked away. He needed a drink and some time alone to clear his head. 

"Your room is this way." He said shortly, gesturing down the hall. She hesitated for a moment, then went ahead silently, her hands clasped tightly together in front of her. They arrived at her chamber and he opened the door roughly and stepped aside. She started to enter but stopped suddenly, turning toward him. 

"No matter what you may believe, you are no monster, Sandor... and you are not your brother." She said quietly. 

"Touching words, my Lady, but I've no need for them." He replied shortly and turned and walked away. He willed himself not to look back at her. He desperately needed a drink and went off in search of wine. He found a wine skin in the kitchen and took it with him back to his quarters, drinking it as he walked. Soon the familiar effects washed over him, relaxing his mind and his tense muscles. He removed his heavy armor and sat down on the bed, leaning back against the stone wall. He let his mind wander and soon fell into a restless slumber. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

SYREENA watched Sandor stalk away. He reached the stairwell at the end of the corridor and went down, disappearing from view. She walked into her chamber and slowly shut the door behind her. She was exhausted from the long day, and desired only sleep. She shrugged off the myriad of emotions that lurked around the edges of her subconscious. She remembered how Lord Bryce had looked at her, how he had placed his hand on the small of her back at the feast. He had staked his claim on her already, she was certain he would ask the Queen for her hand. The thought made her heart beat wildly, a sense of dread filled her stomach. She sat down at the vanity and looked at her reflection, suddenly hating the sight of it. She barely recognized herself anymore, Cersei had succeeded in turning her into her pet. A fit of rage swept over her. She ripped the jeweled band from her hair angrily and slammed it down on the vanity. She pulled the necklace from her neck and threw it across the room. She took off the dress and threw it in a heap on the floor. She pulled her hair down and loosened the braids. She stood in front of the mirror, breathless, in a thin shift with her black hair falling wildly onto her shoulders and down her back. Tears fell down her cheeks and she let all the anxiety and emotions wash over her like a flood. She walked to the bed and laid down, burying her face in a pillow.

Her rage faded away to sadness, and she cried until she felt that there were no tears left in her. She rolled onto her back and wiped her face with her hands. She felt completely powerless, and she didn't like it at all. She thought about Lord Bryce, and admitted that she could do a lot worse than him for a husband. Her greatest worry had been that Cersei would give her to a horrible, brutish man, but Lord Bryce had been kind and honorable, so far. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but something was still weighing on her mind. She replayed the evening in her head, hearing Sandor's horrific story over again. She felt sorry for him, though she knew he didn't want her pity. He had been trying to scare her, and she wanted to know why. She had heard of his savage reputation, but she knew a gentler side of him existed. If he wanted her to hate him, she could find no reason to do that. She didn't know what she had done to make him push her away, but she would respect his wishes and keep her distance. Sleep found her eventually and she slept restlessly through the night.

She awoke to find Rhea laying out her plum gown and sat up sleepily, squinting from the sunlight.

"Good morning, my Lady." Rhea chirped. Syreena mumbled in reply and laid back down, pulling the blanket over her face.

"Begging your pardon, my Lady, but you must be getting up soon. Your bath is drawn and breakfast is on the table." Rhea said. When Syreena didn't stir she walked over to the bed and pulled the blanket back playfully. Syreena smiled and begrudgingly got up.

"Alright, Rhea. I'm going." She said smiling. She liked that Rhea was trustworthy and friendly, she was her only friend in King's Landing. She bathed and washed her hair and ate her breakfast quickly. Rhea dried her hair and brushed it out, carefully removing the tangles caused by her tossing and turning.

"What shall we do with it today?" She asked.

"The same as usual, Rhea. I want to look like myself today." Syreena replied. Rhea raised her eyebrows but did as she was told. When she was done, Syreena put the plum gown back in the chest and pulled out the black one with the lace collar. Rhea gave her a worried look, and Syreena smiled.

"It's fine. Stop your worrying." Syreena chided. "Cersei can't possibly be angry, it _is_ one of her dresses." She said sarcastically.

"If you say so, My Lady." Rhea replied simply, picking up the tray and leaving with a smile. Syreena wore no jewelry, save for her favorite metal belt. She walked unescorted to the castle gate, happy to have some semblance of freedom. She arrived and was waiting patiently for a cart when she heard her name called. She turned around and found Lord Bryce walking toward her. Her stomach dropped and her cheeks felt hot, but she faked a smile and turned to face him.

"Good morning, my Lady." He said, kissing her hand. "You're even more beautiful than I remembered." He added, smiling. His lips lingered too long on her hand and she pulled it away gently, smiling back at him.

"Thank you, my Lord. You are too kind." She replied graciously. He was wearing a dark gray tunic, a broadsword sheathed at his side. His cloak was black, embroidered with his house sigil: black nightingales on a field of yellow. His brown hair was washed and tied back, his beard trimmed neatly along his square jaw. He was tall, but only slightly taller than she was. His cold, gray eyes appraised her and she smiled nervously when their eyes met. A cart arrived at the gate and stopped in front of them.

"May I accompany you to the field, my Lady?" He asked politely, offering his hand. She forced herself to accept it, placing her hand in his.

"Of course, my Lord. Nothing would make me happier." She replied. He helped her into the cart and took the seat beside her. The ride was quiet for the most part, which seemed to make Lord Bryce uncomfortable. He tried to strike up conversation a few times, commenting on the tournament and then about his home in the Marches. She listened politely, acknowledging with a nod and a smile. He seemed pleased by her attention. When they arrived at the city gate he stepped out and offered his hand to help her down. She accepted it graciously, and took his arm as they walked to the field together. She was the picture of courtesy and grace, carrying herself as the delicate highborn woman she was expected to be. As the morning wore on, she silently cursed herself for playing the part. She hated that ladies were expected to be meek and mild, quiet and fragile. She didn't have a meek bone in her body. She thought of her Aunt Maege and her heart fell.

They arrived at the raised dais and took seats higher up on the platform with Lord Renly. He greeted her warmly, and gave a knowing look and a smile to Lord Bryce when he thought she wasn't looking. She was sickened, but maintained her composure. She was pleased to notice Cersei was not seated next to the king, her children were also not in attendance. Lord Stark was seated with Lady Sansa, the little Arya wasn't with them. Soon the horns blew signaling the start of today's joust, and Sandor rode in first, wearing an olive green cloak over his soot grey armor. His hound's-head helm was open as he rode to the start. The Kingslayer came in second, blowing a kiss to some lady as he rode in. Suddenly Littlefinger called out a bet, placing 100 Gold Dragons on Jaime Lannister. Renly accepted it, and soon after Sandor and Jaime were riding down the field toward each other. The Kingslayer hit Sandor, his lance exploding angrily. Sandor fought to keep his seat, yet remained on his horse. They rode to the start again and Jaime's broken lance was replaced. They made a second pass and both lances met their marks. Jaime Lannister was unseated, and Sandor was the victor. She watched his horse come to a stop and silently thanked the Gods that he wasn't hurt. Suddenly she felt Lord Bryce's hand on hers, and she realized she had been gripping his arm as she watched. She pulled her hand away and apologized, smiling. He was beaming proudly and reassured her, explaining that the lances were made to splinter on impact to protect competitors from injury. She feigned relief at his words and turned back to the match. Jaime was being led away by a squire, his helm had been dented in the fall and he couldn't remove it. The commons roared with laughter, ladies and lords on the platform stifled giggles. Her eyes found Sandor standing beside his horse near the lists, still wearing his hound's-helm. The visor was open, his eyes locked on the far end of the field. She followed his gaze and saw Ser Gregor mounted on his stallion at the start, ready for his match. She stared at the hulking man, Sandor's horrific story flooding back into her mind.

"The Mountain that Rides." Lord Bryce said aloud. "He makes that destrier look like a pony." Renly chuckled in agreement.

"I hear he's soon to be married again." Renly replied quietly.

"His third, if my memory serves." Lord Bryce answered quietly. "I've only heard whispers about the deaths of his first two wives. Poor creatures." Syreena looked at him, curious. He leaned toward her and lowered his voice to a whisper. "It is said that his keep is a grim place. Servants disappear unaccountably and even the dogs are afraid to enter. Rumor has it the Clegane brothers had a sister who died under queer circumstances before the Hound was burned. Even their father's death was suspicious. They called it a 'hunting accident.'" He whispered. She looked back at Ser Gregor, remembering what Sandor had said. He had committed horrific atrocities and had been knighted by a king all before the age of seventeen. Hate filled her as she watched him. His horse was restless, stomping the ground with its large hooves.

Ser Loras entered the field and the crowd cheered loudly. He was riding a beautiful gray mare, his armor shining like a mirror. Blue flowers decorated his armor, and she realized they were made of sapphires. His heavy cloak was made of real flowers, sewn together. As he trotted past Ser Gregor, the large stallion reared and pawed the ground. Gregor was having trouble controlling his mount. He kicked the animal savagely and the horse reared, almost throwing the enormous man. Ser Loras saluted the king and rode to the start, couching his lance. Ser Gregor fought his horse to the fence and it began. They galloped toward each other, Gregor fighting to keep his stallion on the line. Loras galloped smoothly toward him, lance in perfect position. The Mountain was struck and fell, taking the large horse down with him. Ser Loras reined up, his lance unbroken. The crowd roared as he raised his visor, smiling. Ser Gregor stood, calling for his sword. A squire scrambled to deliver the immense longsword as the horse struggled to its feet. Ser Gregor swung the massive sword and killed the horse with a single blow to the neck, nearly decapitating the animal. The cheers quickly turned to screams of terror, ladies hiding their eyes and covering their mouths in horror. Gregor turned to Loras and stalked toward him. Men all around her were yelling, and Loras was calling for his sword frantically. Lord Bryce and Lord Renly headed toward the field, pushing through the crowd of people. Gregor hit Loras in the chest with a two-handed blow and knocked him from his saddle. The mare fled in panic, Loras laid in the dirt, stunned. Gregor raised his sword for the killing blow, but Sandor was there, wrenching his brother away from Loras.

" _Leave him be._ " Sandor warned, his hand on his sword hilt. Syreena stood, her blood running cold. The Mountain swung at Sandor in wordless fury, but Sandor drew his sword and caught the blow, turning it away. Renly and Bryce pulled Loras to safety as the two brothers hammered at each other over and over. Three times she saw Gregor aim for Sandor's helm, yet Sandor never swung at his brother's unprotected face.

" _STOP THIS MADNESS IN THE NAME OF YOUR KING!"_ Robert bellowed from his chair. Sandor immediately dropped to one knee, Gregor's final cut hitting air above Sandor's head. Gregor dropped his sword and glared at Robert menacingly, who was surrounded by his Kingsguard. He turned wordlessly and stormed off, pushing past Ser Barristan. "Let him go." Robert ordered. Loras returned to the field and thanked Sandor.

"I owe you my life. The day is yours, Ser." Loras said, bowing.

"I am no _Ser."_ Sandor growled, but accepted the victory and the champion's purse. The crowd cheered for Sandor, which obviously irritated him. She saw him glance in her direction and their eyes met briefly. He turned away and left the field, heading toward the pavilions. Her heart pounded in her chest and her hands trembled.

"Lady Syreena." Lord Bryce caught her attention. She turned toward him and he took her hands in his. "No need to worry, my Lady." He said calmly, "We're all unharmed." He smiled down at her. She forced herself to smile back, relieved that her fearful concern had been misread. "Shall I escort you back to the Keep?" He asked, concern in his voice.

"Oh, no, my Lord. I am fine." She laughed nervously. "Just worried, is all." She added breathlessly. He smiled and sat down with her. Once Renly rejoined them and the crowd began to thin, they left the platform and walked together to the archery field. They walked along with Lord Stark and Lady Sansa, who greeted her and Lord Bryce warmly. Lord Stark and Lord Bryce knew each other well, and Eddard gave Syreena an approving nod. She instantly felt more secure, knowing that Lord Bryce had his blessing. Littlefinger and Renly were behind them, discussing the incident.

"Tyrell had to know the mare was in heat," Littlefinger said. "I swear the boy planned the whole thing. Gregor has always favored huge, ill-tempered stallions with more spirit than sense."

Barristan Selmy was not amused. "There is small honor in tricks." He said stiffly.

"Small honor and twenty thousand golds." Renly added, smiling.

The archery competition was without incident. The victory went to a commoner from the Dornish Marches. The melee went on for three hours and almost forty men competed. Though they fought with blunted weapons, most were bloody and bruised. The red priest, Thoros of Myr, won the melee, a fearsome man who fought with a flaming sword. His foes' horses were frightened by the fire sword. By the end of the melee there had been three broken limbs, a shattered collarbone, a dozen smashed fingers, two horses had to be put down, and more cuts, sprains, and bruises than anyone cared to count. Lord Bryce escorted her to the feast, and eventually the pressure between them lifted and she let herself enjoy the evening. He was kind, courteous, and attentive. He talked to her all evening, asking her about her home and her family. She felt herself slowly warming up to him, and soon he didn't seem like a stranger to her. When she grew tired he escorted her back to the castle. They walked to the city gate and took a cart back to the Red Keep, talking about the day's events and the sights of the city. When they arrived at the castle gate, he helped her down from the cart and she bade him goodnight. She turned to enter the castle, but he stopped her. He took her hands in his, a worried expression on his face.

"Lady Syreena, I have truly enjoyed your company today." He said quietly. "If I may be so bold, I feel I must confess my intentions." Her breath left her and her heart began to beat wildly in her chest. "I intend to ask The Queen for your hand." He blurted nervously. She looked at him, shocked. When she didn't respond, he continued. "Before I go to her, I desire to know your feelings." His confidence returned as he spoke, his gray eyes locked with hers. "Lady Syreena, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife? I dare say I won't sleep a wink until I know your answer." He watched her intently, his brow furrowed with worry. She blinked and looked down, surprised. It had happened so fast it seemed like a dream, and yet here he was in front of her, asking for her blessing. She knew he was her best option; he was a kind and honorable man, the answer to her fearful prayers. She took a deep breath and looked up at him.

"Nothing could make me happier, my Lord." She said simply. He smiled and breathed a sigh of relief, kissing both of her hands happily.

"I will go to The Queen tomorrow." He assured her, beaming proudly. They parted ways and she entered the castle, a guard closed the door behind her. A flood of emotions came over her and she suddenly felt the need to pray. Instead of going to her chambers, she made her way to the gardens and down the twisting path to the castle's Godswood. There was no carved weirwood as she was accustomed to, but there was a great oak planted as the heart tree, with smoke berry vines covering the limbs. She sat in the godswood and prayed, thanking the Gods for answering her prayers. When she was finished praying she sat alone on the low wall, looking out over the Blackwater Rush. From the height of the Red Keep she could see for miles and miles, but the view wasn't pleasing to her. She would have given anything to see Bear Island again, even if only from afar. Her Aunt Maege's face came to mind. She missed her aunt and her cousins terribly. She thought about Jorah, wondering where he was and whether he was fulfilling the King's wishes as he had promised.

Her thoughts were interrupted suddenly, the sound of feet on loose rocks startled her. She held her breath and listened intently, the sound stopped. She slowly rose from her seat on the wall and walked toward the path, careful not to make a sound. She listened as she moved, waiting for the intruder to give themselves away. As she started up the path, the shuffling sound started again, she realized it was behind her. She stopped abruptly and turned to face it, but saw no one. She waited a moment, her eyes scanning the thick brush around her. She had no weapon and decided to hurry back up to the castle. She turned and started walking quickly up the path, and soon the sound of crunching gravel was following her again. She quickened her pace and when the footsteps quickened as well, and she broke into a run. She ran as fast as she could up the narrow, twisting path, glancing over her shoulder as she ran. Panic took over and she pushed her legs to go faster. She was running at a breakneck pace, her lungs felt like they would explode any second. She chanced a fleeting look behind her and slammed into something, hard. She fell backward but was caught, large hands wrapped around her arms and kept her on her feet. She struggled against the restraint, screaming and pounding her fists on the dark form on front of her.

SANDOR shook her violently, restraining her flailing arms at her wrists.

"Syreena! Stop... _stop!"_ He roared, finally getting her attention. She looked up at him with wide eyes and clutched at his arms, steadying herself. She was gasping for air and trying to speak, but no words would come. She gestured wildly behind her, toward the godswood. Confused, he looked down the path, seeing nothing. Suddenly she fainted and fell into him, and he caught her in his arms. He shook her gently and her head fell back limply. He cursed under his breath and picked her up, cradling her in his arms. He carried her up to the castle and through hidden stairwells and empty corridors to her chamber. He opened the door and took her inside, kicking the door closed behind him. He laid her on her bed and sat down on the edge beside her sleeping form. A stray piece of her hair had fallen across her face and he brushed it back lightly. She stirred, but did not wake. He watched her for a moment, studying her relaxed features. He recalled his battle with Gregor as he watched her sleep, the memory still fresh in his mind.

 _He could feel her green eyes on him and looked up, finding her in the crowd immediately. She had risen from her seat and was wringing her hands in worry. For a moment, he considered going to her, then he saw Lord Bryce climbing the stairs toward her._

The image disappeared from his mind at the thought of Caron. His blood boiled at the thought of the highborn cunt staking his claim on her. He'd seen them together at the feast tonight; Caron's hand on the small of her back, her eyes shining as she smiled up at him. Jealousy rose inside him and he stood suddenly. He stalked to the door and left without a second glance. He wandered the halls of the castle, nowhere near tired enough for sleep. He couldn't stop thinking about them; Lord Bryce was taken with her and would likely ask for her hand within the week. She would be given to him freely, his title and lands making him a more than suitable match. Their courtship would be short. She would eventually be taken to the Sept of Baelor, where she would take his hand and climb the steps to the altar. He would place the ceremonial cloak over her shoulders and they would say their wedding vows. She would become his wife, his property, and she would be taken away to the Dornish Marches to live with him and have his children. He clenched his fists angrily, resisting the urge to punch the stone wall. He kept telling himself to forget her and the ridiculous notion that he stood a chance with her. She was far above him, the Ward of the Queen. Syreena had no choice in the matter. She was completely under the control of The Queen, who had the power to give her away to any Lord or Knight in the Seven Kingdoms. Even if she did have the freedom to choose for herself, he was a fool to think she would ever choose him. He found his quarters and removed his armor. Since he could not forget her on his own, he decided he would drink her away. He donned a black doublet and a cloak and left the castle in search of wine and women, desperate for some peace of mind.

He entered a brothel and bought a wineskin. The common room was packed with men; knights, hedge knights and squires alike, drunk and full of lust. He took a seat in the corner with a good view of the room. In one corner, two knights were playing at forfeits with two half-naked whores. The men appeared to be losing the game, various articles of clothing laying in piles beside them. There was a long cushioned bench along the far wall, on it sat several men. A few had whores sitting on their laps as they drank, some were enjoying being massaged by beautiful, naked women. He surveyed the room from his position in the corner, feeling the wine start to dull his senses. He caught sight of a ginger whore with large breasts and beckoned her over. She smiled wryly and approached him, untying her sheer robe as she walked. She sat down on his lap, running her hand down the opening at the top of his shirt.

"How may I serve you, Ser?" She asked quietly. He grabbed her wrist and jerked her hand away.

"Save your _ser's,_ for a start." He growled. Her eyes widened in fear. He stood, pulling her to her feet and led her to a private room, closing the door and locking it. After he'd finished, the whore took her pay and fled the room. He tied his trousers and pulled his shirt on. He left the room, throwing his cloak over his shoulders. He started toward the exit when he heard her name.

"He'll be having Lady Syreena every night, lucky bastard." Four hedge knights from the Marches were laughing and drinking at a table. One was standing, talking loudly about the Lady. "If I were Lord Caron I'd have already wedded her and bedded her. Too bad I wasn't born a Lord or I'd take her for myself. I can picture it: taking her from behind on our wedding night, holding those full tits in each hand! I bet she's got a nice, tight little cunt." He japed, thrusting his hips forward in demonstration. The other lowly knights roared with laughter. Sandor clenched his fists, fury sweeping over him. He moved before he realized what he was doing, picking up a cheese knife and gutting the raucous cunt in one swift movement. The knight fell, holding his bleeding stomach and gurgling, blood spewing from his mouth. Sandor turned to the others menacingly, they all stood back, eyes wide. A hush had fallen over the brothel, every eye was on him. He was in a killing mood, and silently dared every man in the place to try his luck. When no challenge came, he threw the knife down and stalked out of the brothel and went back to the castle. When he got to his room he threw his bloody clothes in a heap in the corner and laid down. His mood had improved drastically and he fell into a dreamless sleep.

SYREENA woke with a start, and sat straight up. She was still wearing the black dress from the day before, and couldn't remember getting into bed. It was still early, Rhea hadn't arrived yet. She got up quickly, taking off the black gown and tossing it aside. She ran her own bath and sat down in the tub, letting herself relax in the warm, fragrant water. She closed her eyes and tried to remember the previous night. The memories came like a flood; Lord Bryce's nervous proposal, the footsteps in the godswood, her encounter with Sandor...her eyes sprung open and she felt her cheeks redden. She must have fainted from exertion...had he carried her to her bed? Embarrassed, she sank below the water's surface, holding her breath. She stayed there for a moment, the silence calming her. When she felt her lungs burning she came up for air and laid back against the wall of the tub. So much had happened in a day's time. She could hardly believe that she would be married soon, and she tried to picture herself as the Lady of Nightsong, Lord Bryce's ancestral holdfast. He was the last of his house, and she wondered if he would expect a large family. She pictured their children playing in the castle, strong boys with her dark hair and his gray eyes. She wondered if she could ever love him as her mother had loved her Lord father. Her heart ached at the thought of her broken family and she took a deep breath, clearing her mind. She laid there so long the water began to turn cold. She washed her hair quickly and got out, drying off and donning her robe. She readied herself for the day, brushing her hair and braiding it, then put on her green silk dress with her metal belt around her waist. She was seated on the windowsill when Rhea arrived with her breakfast. The girl was surprised to find her there, awake and dressed.

"Good morning, my Lady. You got an early start." She said smiling. Syreena smiled back and took her breakfast there at the window. She was looking out over the city when a sharp knock came at the door. Her heart quickened, unsure of who could be here at this hour. Rhea opened the door and gasped, Sandor stood hulking in the doorway.

"My Lady, the Queen wants to see you." He said coldly. She rose from her seat and crossed to the door. He backed into the hall, giving her plenty of space to exit the room. Rhea's eyes were wide with fear. Syreena gave her an assuring nod and left with Sandor. They walked to Maegor's holdfast in cold silence. She wanted to ask him about the previous night but she held her tongue. When they arrived at the Queen's Solar he knocked twice and opened the door, ushering her in. She entered the room and he stepped in behind her, closing the door and taking his place at the wall. Cersei was seated at a large desk with a satisfied smile on her face.

"Good morning, your Grace." Syreena said with a curtsy. "You were missed at the tournament yesterday."

"Yes, yes. Apparently I missed quite a bit of excitement yesterday." Cersei crooned. She gestured to the empty chair in front of Syreena and she sat down in it, watching the Queen's face cautiously. Cersei poured wine into a glass and sipped it. She looked back up at Syreena, appraising her.

"I must congratulate you, Lady Syreena." She said softly. "It seems you've already managed to secure a proposal from Lord Bryce Caron. Well done." She purred. Syreena smiled weakly, unsure how to react. Cersei continued, "Lord Caron arrived at daybreak to ask for your hand. You'll be happy to know that I granted his request." Her eyes regarded Syreena intently, gauging her reaction.

"Thank you, your Grace. I am overjoyed to hear this news." Syreena replied, smiling sweetly. Cersei's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"The wedding plans have already been set into motion. There is nothing more to be done. Your wedding day will be glorious." She cooed. "In the meantime, Lord Bryce must travel back to the Marches to make preparations for your arrival. When he returns, you will wed in the Great Sept and you will leave King's Landing as the Lady of Nightsong." She got up and walked around the desk. She sat in the empty chair beside Syreena and took her hand in hers. "I am quite familiar with your position. My own marriage to the King was arranged. I know you must be scared to death for your wedding night. When he takes you for the first time it will be dreadfully painful, but it gets better with time." She said softly. Syreena stiffened slightly, uncomfortable with the topic. "You may never truly love Lord Bryce, but someday he will make you a mother, and you will love his children with all your heart." Cersei's sweetness seemed almost genuine. Syreena watched the Queen return to her seat at the desk. "Lord Bryce asked to see you before he departs. You may go to him." She said, ending the meeting. Syreena stood slowly, unable to force herself to smile.

"Thank you, your Grace." She said quietly as she turned and left the room. Sandor exited behind her and pulled the door closed. She looked up at him and he brushed past her quietly. She followed, and when they reached the corner he stopped.

"Your Lord Bryce is waiting for you in the garden." He said sharply. She nodded silently and left him there in the holdfast. She made her way to the garden, her hands trembling. The idea of seeing her future husband made her heart race. She stepped through the wide archway leading into the garden and caught sight of him. He was wearing riding leathers, his sword hanging at his side. He hadn't noticed her arrival. She watched him for a moment, he was pacing nervously, running his hands through his hair. She walked toward him.

"My Lord." She said, catching his attention. He turned toward her and smiled.

"Lady Syreena. You look glorious." He said, kissing her hand. "Queen Cersei shared the happy news, I trust?"

"She did, my Lord." She answered. He offered his arm and she took it, and they walked through the garden together.

"Regretfully, I must return to Nightsong before our nuptials, but I won't stay gone for long." He said as they walked. He stopped and turned toward her. "I'm glad I could see you before I depart, I want to give you something." He pulled a small necklace from his pocket and held it out to her. The silver chain was delicate, an oval pendant with black jewels in the shape of a nightingale hung from it. "The nightingale is the Caron House sigil. This was my mother's." He explained. She smiled up at him and turned around, moving her hair so he could put it on her. His hand brushed against her neck, raising gooseflesh on her arms. She faced him, and he took her hands in his.

"Thank you, my Lord. It's beautiful." She breathed. She remembered him telling her that his mother had died when he was young, along with his father, brother, and sisters. She felt for him, and realized how much this must mean to him. She smiled and squeezed his hands.

"I must go. The sooner I leave, the sooner I can return." He said quickly with a smile. He linked her arm with his again and they walked back to the castle. He stopped in the doorway and turned toward her. He brushed her cheek lightly with his hand. "We'll see each other again soon, Lady Syreena." He assured her. He left before she could answer, disappearing around a corner. She knew his leaving was supposed to upset her, but she felt no sadness in his absence. She was glad to have these two weeks to herself, free of expectations and awkwardly intimate moments. She walked through the gardens, unburdened, looking at the flowers and listening to birds singing. She took her time, enjoying her leisurely walk. Soon she would be married and she would be expected to give him an heir. Her life was no longer hers, a fact she was finally beginning to accept.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

SANDOR spent the rest of the day in a foul mood. He shadowed Prince Joffrey after the Queen's meeting with Syreena and then stood guard outside the Prince's chambers for hours. Joffrey had questioned him about his fight with Gregor, and Sandor didn't care to talk about it. The boy was bloodthirsty, dying to put a sword through another man. He thought about the little depraved Prince becoming King someday and smiled to himself. He had picked the right side, when the little savage ended up on the rampage Sandor would be well out of his path. On the other hand, he realized he would most likely be the one ordered to commit heinous atrocities on the boy's behalf. He shrugged it off, he didn't mind killing. His mind wandered to this morning's meeting in the Queen's Solar. Syreena was marrying the Lord of the Marches and it made no nevermind to him. She would be gone from King's Landing in two weeks' time and he didn't care to waste any more energy on the ridiculous notion that she cared for him. He would do his best to keep his distance unless ordered to escort her. He was relieved of duty for the night and returned to his quarters. He thought it best to stay in tonight after his fight with the hedge knight in the brothel the night before. He hadn't killed in a while and admitted it felt good. He took out his sword and put the stone to it, losing himself in the sound of stone on metal.

SYREENA paid a visit to Sansa and Arya Stark in the early afternoon. Sansa was effervescent, gushing about Syreena's engagement to Lord Bryce and how she was so lucky to be marrying someone gallant and handsome. She talked about her own engagement to Prince Joffrey and raved about how brave and wonderful he was. The girl spent a lot of time reading the old tales of chivalrous knights and their beautiful ladies, and she was still naive enough to believe them. Syreena bestowed some womanly wisdom on her, warning her not to set him up so high and to always keep her guard up. No matter how gallant she thought he was, his true nature would reveal itself sometime and she didn't want Sansa to be disappointed. The way she went on about him concerned Syreena. Any indiscretion on his part would surely destroy the young girl. Arya was quite the opposite, her little kindred spirit, interested only in her water dancing and proudly displaying her bruises from her lessons. Sansa commented that she must be a horrible dancer and Syreena laughed until she cried. She hadn't laughed like this in a long time and it felt good. Lord Stark was busy in his office preparing for a small council meeting. He spoke to her before he left, congratulating her on her upcoming nuptials. She thanked him and he left. The meeting was obviously weighing heavily on his mind. Soon after, she said her goodbyes to the Stark girls and left the Tower of the Hand. She wandered around the castle, avoiding Maegor's holdfast, not wanting to run into the Queen. She walked the corridors alone, enjoying the afternoon. She wandered so far she ended up near the Throne Room. She was looking at ornate tapestries in a wide corridor when she heard loud voices. She looked around her, and cautiously moved toward the door at the end of the hall. The voices were coming from inside. When she got closer, she realized it was the Small Council. King Robert was bellowing angrily about killing a girl, and Lord Stark was arguing against it vehemently. She turned to leave, not wanting to eavesdrop, until she heard Lord Stark mention her brother's name.

"You would bring us the whisperings of a traitor half a world away, my Lord. Perhaps Mormont is wrong. Perhaps he is lying." Lord Stark said.

"Ser Jorah would not dare deceive me," Lord Varys answered, "rely on it, My Lord. The Princess is with child." They were talking about the Targaryen girl Jorah was sent to spy on, she realized. King Robert yelled angrily about the unborn child, calling it 'dragonspawn' and fretting over whether she was carrying a boy or a girl in her belly. She realized they were all for killing the girl, but Lord Stark was the only one fighting against it. Lord Stark fought fiercely, even going so far as to insult the King.

"I never knew you to fear Rhaegar." He said. "Have the years so unmanned you that you tremble at the shadow of an unborn child?"

King Robert lost his temper at this, calling for a vote to end the discussion. Lord Renly and Lord Varys agreed the girl must die. Ser Barristan Selmy spoke up, siding with Lord Stark. Grand Maester Pycelle feebly agreed with the King, justifying it as a mercy killing. Littlefinger's voice was the last, siding with the King. With the vote in the King's favor, they moved to discuss how she should be dealt with. Her brother's name came up again.

"Mormont craves a Royal pardon." She heard Renly say. Lord Varys agreed with him, adding that his position with the Targaryen girl currently put him in danger. He spoke of things she didn't understand. For some reason her brother was near a place where he would be killed just for drawing a blade. Poison was suggested next, the King hated the idea, calling poison a 'coward's weapon.' Lord Stark spoke against it again, singling out the King.

"You send hires knives to kill a fourteen year old girl and still quibble about honor?" She heard a chair move across the stone floor. "Do it yourself, Robert. The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. Look her in the eyes before you kill her. See her tears, hear her last words. You owe her that much at least." He said.

" _Gods."_ The King swore furiously. Glass shattered. The King commanded that the deed be done, not caring how they went about it. Lord Stark refused to put his seal on the order, and King Robert lost his temper.

"You're the King's Hand, Lord Stark. You will do as I command you, or I'll find me a Hand who will." He bellowed.

"I wish him every success." Lord Stark replied. "I thought you a better man than this, Robert. I thought we had made a nobler king."

" _Out!_ Out, damn you, I'm done with you. What are you waiting for? Go, run back to Winterfell. And make certain I never look on your face again, or I swear, I'll have your head on a spike!" The King roared.

She heard footsteps and quickly hid behind a large statue as Lord Stark opened the door and stalked away. She waited until he was out of sight before she left the corridor. She didn't want to hear anymore. Suddenly she was thankful that she would be leaving King's Landing with Lord Bryce. Her only advocate had just quit his position and was going to leave King's Landing for The North. She envied Lord Stark and his daughters for getting to return home. She missed the North terribly. She thought of Jorah suddenly, remembering the danger they spoke of in the council chamber. She fled back to her chamber and prayed for his safety. She remained in her chamber for the rest of the evening. She had seen enough of the castle for a lifetime.

She awoke the following morning to Rhea shaking her frantically. She sat up, confused. The girl was speaking too fast, her words coming out jumbled.

"Rhea, slow down. I can't understand you." She said sleepily.

"My Lady, I just heard this morning that Lord Stark was attacked in the city last night. His men were killed and he was injured badly." Rhea said hurriedly. Syreena swung her feet off the bed and put both hands on the girl's shoulders.

"What? Who would do such a thing? Why?" She had so many questions.

"It was the Kingslayer, My Lady. They say Lady Stark has accused Lord Tyrion of trying to murder her son. They say she took him hostage on the King's Road." She answered.

Syreena rose quickly, throwing on a deep purple dress and brushing her hair haphazardly. She hurried from the chamber, headed for the Tower of the Hand. When she arrived, they wouldn't let her see Lord Stark, but she was taken to Lady Sansa's room. Sansa was with Arya and her Septa, their faces were full of worry. When she walked in both girls ran to hug her. Sansa sobbed as she held them, and Arya held her tears back stoically. She calmed Sansa down and they sat together a while, talking about Lord Stark's condition. He had suffered an injury to his leg, and was being sedated by milk of the poppy. The King had sent Grand Maester Pycelle to see to him, and they expected a clean recovery. Knowing there was nothing more she could do at the moment, she stood to leave. She told Sansa to send for her if they needed anything and Sansa thanked her graciously. When she opened the door to leave, Sansa was kneeling to pray. She descended the Tower stairs, silently praying for Lord Stark as she walked. She didn't want to return to her room, so she went to the gardens for a walk in the sun. She stepped out into the gardens and found them crowded. It was a beautiful day and many others had decided to enjoy it. She made her way down the winding path to the godswood, and as she walked the quiet pathway during the daylight hours her fear of the place disappeared. It was a peaceful place, all voices faded away. She could only hear the gulls crying out at the bay, the wind blowing through the trees and brush. She lingered there for a long time, looking out over the bay. She completely lost track of the time, lost in her thoughts.

"Lady Syreena, I've been looking for you everywhere." A voice spoke out behind her. She turned and saw Lord Renly walking up. He joined her at the wall and looked out over the bay. "I can see why you like it here." He said warmly. "The view is spectacular." She nodded in agreement.

"You said you were looking for me? May I ask why?" She asked calmly.

"Oh, yes. I'm sorry. I heard about Lord Stark and I know you are close to him and his daughters. I wanted to make sure you were alright." He said, still looking out over the water. "I promised Bryce that I'd look after you while he's gone." He confessed, glancing at her. She shifted uneasily.

"Thank you, Lord Renly. I appreciate your concern. I assure you I am well." She replied.

"I am pleased to hear it." He said. "If there is anything I can do for you, please ask." She thought for a moment, then turned toward him.

"Actually, Lord Renly, I was wondering if you had any news of my brother." She asked directly, watching Renly's face for a reaction. He swallowed hard, avoiding her gaze.

"No, My Lady. I haven't heard a thing. I will check with Lord Varys for you, Ser Jorah is supposed to be reporting back to him." He answered carefully. It took everything in her to resist the urge to call him a liar. He was as much a snake as the rest of them, and she wouldn't forget it.

"Thank you so much, my Lord." She said as warmly as she could. "If Lord Varys is in contact with Jorah, I'd like for him to know about my engagement. Do you think Lord Varys can do that?" She added, looking up at him innocently.

"I will do my best, My Lady." He replied. She smiled and thanked him, he bowed slightly and left her in the godswood. She was surprised by her own cunning, using her brother to push Renly away. He was spying for Lord Bryce, and she didn't want Renly's shadow following her around until he returned to marry her. She had made him uncomfortable, and she doubted he would approach her again.

When the sun was hanging low above the water, she left the godswood and went back to her chamber. Rhea was there when she arrived, arranging her dinner. Rhea looked up as Syreena stepped into the room.

"My Lady, any news on Lord Stark's condition?" Rhea asked, worried.

"I wasn't able to see Lord Stark, but I was assured by Lady Sansa that he will make a full recovery." She replied calmly.

"Thank the Gods for that." Rhea breathed. "Is there anything more I can do before I leave, my Lady?"

"No, thank you, Rhea. You may go." Syreena dismissed her. She curtsied and left, closing the door behind her. Syreena was alone with her thoughts yet again. She was spending a lot of time alone these days, and she was growing accustomed to it. Sometimes she longed for someone to talk to, someone she could trust. Aside from the Starks, everyone around her watched her every move and their whispers reached the ears of the Queen. She was looking forward to being the Lady of her own castle, where she could do as she pleased. Boredom set in, and she tried reading an old book. She found she couldn't concentrate on it and threw it in her trunk, exasperated. So much had happened since she came to King's Landing. She tried to remember herself from before, realizing that she had changed drastically. She wasn't the same person at all. She asked herself one question that she wasn't able to answer: had she lost a part herself in this new world, or had she gained something new and different? She thought of Bear Island, and longed to feel the icy wind on her face. She remembered her sword and dagger hidden behind her bed and took them out for the first time since she arrived. She laid them on the bed and unrolled the cloak they were wrapped in, and ran her hand across them. She drew the sword from its sheath, her grip on the hilt was strong and steady. It all came back to her, and she suddenly wanted to spar. She dug her old sparring leathers out of her trunk and changed, then braided her long hair into one thick braid. She snuck out and made for the empty solar that Sandor had shown her. She kept to the shadows, making sure she wasn't seen. She found the unoccupied solar and closed the door and locked it behind her. She took a deep breath and drew her sword. She held it up in front of her, looking the blade over. She liked the feeling of it in her hand. She felt powerful and in control. She started slowly, swinging it a few times to test her grip and her balance. Her training came flooding back to her, and she imagined a foe striking out. She swung at the air, practicing blocking blows, parrying, and lunging. She lost herself in it, forgetting all of her worries and focusing her energy on her imaginary attacker. She lunged a final time, her strike meeting its mark. The imaginary foe fell away and she stood still, breathing heavily. She drew her dagger and weighed it in her hand. She flipped it in her hand and grasped the blade lightly between her fingers, spun quickly and hurled it at the door, smiling when the blade lodged in the wood. She sheathed her sword, dislodged her dagger from the door, and snuck back to her room. She hid her blades and buried her leathers in the trunk and climbed in bed. She was finally tired enough for sleep, and slept peacefully through the night.

SANDOR stuck to Joffrey more than usual. The Queen feared retaliation from the Northmen after Jaime attacked Lord Stark and killed his men, and ordered Sandor not to let the boy out of his sight. The little Prince had laughed when he heard the news, not at all worried about his Uncle Tyrion being held prisoner. He never once mentioned his betrothed, the elder Stark girl. The only person Joffrey truly cared about was himself. His own mother fawned over him and gave him whatever he wanted, and even she was nothing to him.

Joffrey was playing with a crossbow, shooting a stuffed boar repeatedly, talking about the upcoming hunt the King was planning. In truth, Sandor couldn't wait to get outside the city walls and in the kingswood. The King didn't want to leave until Lord Stark woke from his poppy-induced stupor. Sandor stood watch over Joffrey all day, though he didn't expect any danger from the Starks. The Queen was worried for nothing. Lord Stark was a bloody honorable fool and would never attack out of retaliation.

After The Queen and her children had their dinner, Sandor was relieved of his watch and he ate and drank his fill in the dining hall, surrounded by servants and guards alike. They were whispering about the attack on Lord Stark, and speculating on the whereabouts of the Kingslayer. He laughed to himself and shook his head. What kind of craven fled in the midst of an attack? He decided he'd heard enough, pushing back from the table and leaving the hall. He went to his quarters and removed his armor, donning a black cloak. He stuck a dagger in his boot and went out into the city. He wanted to drink himself stupid, and a small part of him was looking for a fight.

He entered a dark tavern and sat at the table in the far corner. He liked its position, far from the door and the large fireplace. With his back to the wall he had an unobstructed view of the room, full of freeriders and merchants drinking and whoring. A small, fearful girl brought a flagon of wine and he tossed a few coins on the table. She picked them up and hurried away, avoiding his gaze. That reaction didn't bother him anymore, he'd had to face it every day since Gregor disfigured him. He realized that was why Syreena confused him, he hadn't seen any fear or disgust in her expression. She treated him as though he was perfectly normal. When her name crossed his mind he cursed under his breath, downed the flagon and called out for another. The girl returned with a new flagon, eyes wide with fear. He watched her put it on the table, she was careful to keep as much distance between them as she could. For good measure he growled menacingly, scaring her. She jumped and hurried away, he laughed to himself. He drank his wine slowly, watching the other patrons in the tavern, laughing boisterously and singing. The noise annoyed him, and he left to return to the castle, disappointed that he hadn't brawled with anyone. He stalked through the halls and went to his quarters, throwing the cloak over a chair. He fell into bed and sleep found him.

 _He heard her voice call his name, the sound echoing through the corridors. He scoured the halls, looking for her. Her voice became louder as he ran, and at last he found her. She was back in the empty solar, exactly as he remembered her the day he brought her here. She was on the balcony, her black hair falling down her back. He walked toward her slowly, looking her over. She turned around and gave him a wry smile, her green eyes burning like Wildfire. He joined her on the balcony and took her in his arms. She put her arms around his neck and he pressed his lips to hers. She kissed him back and whispered his name against his lips and lust_ _took over him. He lifted her to sit on the balcony ledge and she pulled him closer and wrapped her legs around his waist. He kissed her hungrily, running his hand up her thigh. She let out a gasp and his groin throbbed. He lifted the hem of her green dress and pulled her hips toward him, pressing himself against her. She moaned softly, digging her nails into his back..._

Sandor woke up suddenly, drenched in sweat. He was aroused, his cock still hard from the vivid dream.

" _What in the seven hells...?"_ He asked himself aloud, sitting up in his bed. The moon was still hanging over King's Landing, he couldn't have been asleep long. He sat there a while, trying to shake the dream from his mind. He could still taste her, could still hear her whispering his name. Every time he closed his eyes he saw her green eyes staring back at him. She was slowly driving him mad. He'd been avoiding her for days, and yet her mere presence in the castle was stirring something inside him. Was it simply lust, or was it more? He didn't know the answer, these mad feelings were uncharted territory for him. He knew she was promised to another, and she would be leaving King's Landing altogether. He would most likely never lay eyes upon her again. He told himself to forget her and tried to think of other things to push her from his mind. She was there in every thought, no matter what he did. He didn't trust his mind enough to try to sleep, so he got up and left his quarters, wandering the halls of the castle for the remainder of the night.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

SYREENA wondered if she would lose her mind in this place. The past several days had blurred together. Nothing of consequence had occurred, and she had done the exact same things every day. She woke, readied for the day, spent the mornings in the gardens and the afternoons in her room. After dark, she snuck back to the unoccupied solar and sparred with the air. It was the only enjoyment she found throughout the day. Lord Stark was still sleeping off Pycelle's milk of the poppy, and she hadn't been permitted to see Sansa and Arya. She had received no word from Lord Bryce since he left for Nightsong. She didn't even know how many days had passed since he left, but she felt as though a week had come and gone.

She was still in her bed, Rhea would be there any minute. She was her only true contact with another person, and she was always happy to see her. She got up and walked to the window, looking out. Even the view hadn't changed. She sighed unhappily, and admitted that she was ready for the next chapter in her life. She had grown tired of King's Landing and she wanted to leave this place forever. For the first time, she prayed that Lord Bryce would return soon and take her away.

Rhea knocked and entered, smiling. They chatted like old friends as she did her chores, drawing bath water and laying out her dress for the day. Rhea washed and dried her hair and brushed it out, then helped her into her favorite emerald green dress. She sat down to eat her breakfast while Rhea was changing the bedclothes. Rhea was telling her a riveting story about a lovers' quarrel she had overheard between two servants when they heard a knock at the door. They both looked at each other, confused. Rhea started to answer it, but Syreena waved her off, rising to open it herself. She opened the door and found The Queen with Ser Meryn. Syreena curtsied and greeted the Queen warmly, stepping aside to let her through the door. Cersei walked in, her eyes immediately darting around the room. Ser Meryn remained in the hallway, and Syreena closed the door. Cersei took a seat at the small table and gestured for Syreena to sit across from her. She sat down, smiling. She wondered if her face would suffer any permanent damage from all the fake smiles she had been forcing herself to wear. The thought faded away as the Queen spoke.

"I really hate to bear you bad news, but it seems that Lord Bryce has been delayed. He sent a raven this morning." She said softly. She was trying to appear apologetic, but Syreena could tell she was enjoying this.

"Did he say how long?" Syreena asked coolly.

"Another week, maybe two." Cersei replied, practically singing. "Not to worry, my dear, I am certain all is well. He just wants everything to be perfect for you when you arrive in your new home." Syreena nodded, still forcing a smile.

"That is disappointing news. I will pray to the Gods for his swift return." Syreena replied. Cersei smiled, her nose wrinkling slightly at her words.

"That's a good girl." Cersei cooed as she rose from the table. She scanned the room once more, then left, Ser Meryn closing the door behind her. Syreena remained in her seat, her heart sinking. The thought of spending another week or more in this retched place infuriated her. Surely she would descend into madness trapped in this castle! Rhea gathered the used bed clothes and curtsied at the door.

"I am sorry, my Lady. The time will pass quickly. You'll see." She assured Syreena, her voice soft and apologetic. Syreena smiled weakly and watched her leave, closing the door behind her. _What could be keeping him?_ She wondered. Her impending marriage didn't scare her anymore. She was ready to say her vows to Lord Bryce and go to the Marches, knowing that it meant giving herself to him completely, giving him heirs. She didn't care, she could learn to be a wife and mother with time. All of her focus was currently directed at getting out of King's Landing, away from Cersei. She sat at her window all day, her spirit low. She wasn't in the mood to see anyone. She watched the sun cross the sky and set, the wispy clouds painted red and gold as it dipped below the horizon. When Rhea returned with her dinner she realized she had been sitting there for hours. She winced when she moved to stand, her body stiff from being still for so long. She wasn't even in the mood for her usual chat with Rhea. She just wanted to be alone.

Seeing Syreena's hard expression, Rhea arranged the food on the table without speaking. Syreena was thankful for her silence, nodding to her as she left the room. She ate her dinner slowly, then prepared for bed. She laid awake for a while, but eventually she fell asleep.

 _Syreena looked up at the sky, blinking in the sunlight. She was standing at the base of the steps leading up to the Great Sept of Baelor, dressed in her wedding gown. She ascended the stairs slowly, flanked by Ser Meryn and Ser Boros. The bells tolled loudly, the booming sounds echoing off the nearby rooftops and filling her ears. They reached the top step and she waited as Ser Boros pulled the huge doors open. She hesitated, her heart pounding, willing her feet to move. She briefly considered pushing Ser Meryn down the steps and escaping, but he pushed her roughly over the threshold and into the dim Sept. She suddenly thought of livestock being led to slaughter and she shuddered. They closed the doors behind her and she stood on the landing, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. A small group of people had gathered to witness the event, and all of their eyes were boring into her. The King and Queen, their children, the Starks, and a few other courtiers she didn't recognize stood below her, all dressed in their finest clothes and jewels. Her gaze moved to the opposite side of the Sept. Lord Bryce stood at the base of the stairs on the other side, waiting expectantly for her. He smiled happily and her nerves melted away. She took a deep breath and descended the stairs. She walked slowly through the audience, her eyes never leaving Bryce. He was dressed in a black and silver doublet, a fine black cloak emblazoned with the Caron's nightingale sigil was hanging from his shoulders to the floor. When she reached him, he grinned and extended his hand to her. She put her hand in his and they ascended the steps to the altar, where the Septon waited for them. The Septon's voice filled the large room, "You may now cloak the Bride and bring her under your protection." Bryce removed his cloak and placed it gently over her shoulders. The heavy fabric gave her an instantaneous feeling of security, like a shield against the stares she felt from the wedding guests below._ _She laid her hand in his again and the Septon wrapped a white ribbon around their joined hands. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, drowning out the Septon's booming voice. Bryce turned toward her and took her other hand in his and she knew it was time to say her vows. She turned to face him and he smiled. He opened his mouth to speak the words and suddenly his smile faded away. He stared at her, wide-eyed, his mouth opening in a strange way. She gripped his hands, confusion and concern washing over her_ _. Suddenly, the end of a sword burst forth from his chest and she felt his warm blood splatter across her face and chest. Bryce sank to his knees before her, his gray eyes locked with hers. He fell forward, and she tried to hold him up but she collapsed under his weight. She held him on her lap, calling out to him frantically. She covered the gaping wound in his chest with the cloak he had put on her. He tried to speak, but his mouth had filled with blood. She looked out to the guests, pleading for help, but they were all frozen with shock. They were all staring up in horror and she slowly turned, following their gaze. She looked up and found the mountainous Gregor Clegane looming over her, his teeth bared in a terrifying smile. He wiped Bryce's blood from his sword and sheathed it. He reached down and grabbed Bryce's collar and dragged him from her grasp. She tried to scream at Gregor but her voice failed her. She thought to run, but her legs wouldn't move. She sat frozen in place, and as Gregor stalked back toward her she was filled with terror, a shrill scream finally escaping her lips._

She woke screaming, her thin shift drenched in sweat. She tried to catch her breath, relieved that it had been a nightmare. She sat in bed shivering, afraid to fall back asleep again. She looked around the empty room and took deep breaths, forcing herself to calm down. " _It was only a dream,"_ she said aloud. Her heartbeat slowly returned to normal and her hands stopped shaking. She got up and changed her nightgown and poured herself a goblet of wine to calm her nerves. She stood at the window, sipping the wine, letting the effects dull her senses. When the goblet was empty, she returned it to the table. Exhausted, she climbed back into bed and fell into a dreamless sleep.

The next morning, Rhea shook her awake.

"My Lady! Lord Stark awoke last night." She said happily. Syreena sat up and thanked the Gods. "He's been restored as Hand of the King." She finished.

"That is happy news. Thank you, Rhea." Syreena answered. Her spirit lifted and she readied for the day, the horrific nightmare still clinging to her conscience. She shrugged it off and thought about what she could do to pass the time. She had been in this room for too long and she needed to get some air. She decided to go to the gardens first for fresh air and sunlight, then she would explore some of the lower parts of the castle.

SANDOR was given the day off to prepare for the hunt in the kingswood. He didn't have to prepare much, he simply needed to be dressed and ready to leave at dawn. He happily took the time off, though, the little cunt Prince had been driving him mad. He thought about going down to the tavern, but decided against it. He needed to keep a clear head in the kingswood. He stayed in his room for a while, sharpening his sword and preparing his armor. When he grew tired of the tiny room he went out to roam the castle. He wandered aimlessly, first in the upper levels of the Keep, then made his way back down. He turned a corner and stopped, spotting Syreena in the corridor ahead of him. She was walking away from him, looking in doorways as she passed. He watched her for a moment, wondering what she was looking for. She stopped in the doorway of a spiraling stairwell, looking back down the hall suspiciously. He was well hidden behind the corner, and she didn't notice him there. She turned back to the doorway and descended the stairs. When her footsteps had faded away, he followed quietly behind her, always keeping a safe distance from her. He followed her down a few floors, where there were no windows to let sunlight in. Torches hung along the wall, casting eerie shadows as he walked. He reached the base of the stairwell and peered out into the shadows. They were in a large dimly lit underground chamber, and in the low torchlight he could barely make out several large dark masses around the room. As his eyes adjusted, he realized they were the great dragon skulls King Robert had removed from the throne room.

" _Seven Hells..."_ Syreena exclaimed breathlessly. Sandor stepped out into the room and found her, standing in front of an enormous dragon skull. She was keeping her distance from the gargantuan skull, staring at it in awe. The skull of Balerion the Black Dread was so large she looked like a child standing in front of it. She slowly reached her hand out to touch the bone. Sandor cleared his throat, and Syreena gasped loudly and stumbled away from the skull, her hand going to her chest. He stepped out from the shadows, laughing.

"Gods, Sandor, you nearly frightened me to death!" She said, breathless.

"No need to worry, pretty Bear. A pile of old bones can't hurt you." He replied, walking toward her slowly. She smiled and laughed quietly, looking back at the dragon skull. She glanced nervously at him from the corner of her eye as he stood beside her, and reached her hand out again. He watched her intently, her hand lightly touching one of the dragon's sharp teeth. She stared at the beast in wonder, taking in every detail, her green eyes shining in the flickering torchlight. He was amazed at her wonderment, and when she smiled up at him he felt as though a tourney lance had been driven into his chest. He was suddenly hyper-aware of their closeness. Her sweet floral scent drew him in, and he resisted the overwhelming urge to touch her. He stepped back and turned to leave.

"Where are you going?" She asked suddenly. He stopped and turned to answer, but voices echoing from the stairwell caught his attention.

"Someone's coming." He said abruptly. Her eyes widened as he walked back to her. He grabbed her arm and pulled her into a shadowy alcove. The torch there had long burned out, leaving the narrow space in darkness. There was barely enough space for the two of them, they were standing chest to chest. Sandor's back was pressed against the stone wall, his hands on Syreena's upper arms. She was pressed against him, her hands resting on his chest. She looked up at him and he put a finger up to his mouth, listening to the men as they moved around the cellar. The men were well on the other side of the room and were speaking in hushed tones, Sandor couldn't hear them well enough to understand them. He looked back down at Syreena, and her eyes locked with his. Desire suddenly welled up within him, and he lost the will to resist it. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her tightly to his chest. He waited for her to push back, but instead she took a slight step closer to him and slid her hands up to his shoulders. Their faces were close, their noses lightly brushing against each other. She bit her lower lip, and he pressed his lips to hers in a long, slow, kiss. After a moment, she pulled her lips away from his and looked up at him. She brushed his hair back from his face, her eyes staring into his. He heard the men's voices fading, their footsteps ascending the stairs. When he was sure they were gone, he pulled her back toward him roughly and kissed her again, and her body melted into his. She raised up on her toes, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. He stepped forward and pushed her back against the opposite wall. All of their tension melted away as they held onto each other. They were locked in a passionate embrace, the sounds of their ragged breathing filled the narrow alcove. Sandor couldn't tell where he ended and where she began. He felt himself getting hard, but he didn't want to take things too far. He pulled back, breathing heavily. He rested his forehead against hers, and neither of them spoke as they caught their breath. She was panting, her breasts straining against the fabric of her dress with every breath. He noticed her necklace for the first time, the nightingale pendant hanging from her neck like a collar. The sight of the sigil of House Caron hit him like a slap to the face. He released his grip on her and and stepped out of their hiding place. She followed him into the open room, her green eyes blazing like Wildfire in the torchlight, and her pale cheeks were flushed. They stood next to the dragon skull, silently regarding each other. He didn't know what to say to her, he was in uncharted territory.

"What now?" She asked quietly, breaking the silence. He ran his hands through his hair in exasperation. Anger filled him, and he needed to kill something. She was watching him, concern and embarrassment mixing in her expression. He knew if he didn't put some distance between them, he'd lose complete control and take her right here in the cellar.

"Nothing's changed, my Lady. You still belong to Lord Caron." He replied bitterly. Her gaze fell to the floor and she crossed her arms in front of her. He tried to think of what to say, but words failed him. He turned abruptly and walked away.

"Sandor..." Her clear voice called out to him. He wanted to go to her, but he couldn't bring himself to turn around. He took the stairs two at a time, leaving her in the dark cellar alone.

SYREENA watched him disappear into the darkness. She understood why he was angry. He spoke the truth, she did belong to Lord Bryce. She waited in the cellar, giving him a few minutes' head start. She looked back at the skull of Balerion, the empty eye sockets staring off into the darkness. She had been amazed at the size of the immense dragon skull, but now the emptiness she felt in her chest made it seem smaller somehow. With one last look around the large chamber, she ascended the stairs and went straight back to her room. She hurried past servants and guards in the corridors, avoiding eye contact. Something changed in her the moment Sandor touched her. She worried that someone might notice, as though her guilt were written on her face. She entered her room and shut the door behind her, sliding the lock into place. She threw herself down on her bed, burying her face in her pillow. She thought about what had happened in the cellar. All of her worries and anxieties had melted away at his touch. His strong arms made her feel safe and his hunger stirred something inside of her that she didn't fully understand. She rolled to her back and stared at the ceiling. Her life had suddenly become even more complicated than before. Though she was pledged to Lord Bryce, she wanted another man. She could be herself with Sandor. She liked the way she felt with him.

She got up and moved to the window, the sun was hanging low in the evening sky. " _Syreena, you have gone completely mad."_ She said to herself, sighing with frustration. She had finally accepted her fate and was ready to start her life with Bryce. She had been ready to leave King's Landing for good and now she had a reason to want to stay. Her frustration came to a head and she wanted to break something. She went to the table and picked up the glass water pitcher and hurled it across the room. It shattered when it hit the stone wall, sending water and shards of glass in every direction.

"My Lady!" Rhea exclaimed from the doorway. Syreena spun around in surprise.

"Rhea! I'm so sorry. I-I lost my temper." She stammered. "I will clean this mess up." She immediately dropped to the floor, picking up shards of glass with her hands.

"My Lady, no! You'll cut yourself like that." Rhea said, pulling Syreena away from the mess. "I will take care of it." She said, smiling. Syreena smiled weakly and thanked her. Rhea talked cheerfully as she cleared the broken glass and dried the floor. The King's hunting party was leaving at dawn for the Kingswood and the castle servants were bustling about in preparation.

"How many men will he take with him?" Syreena asked as she brought Rhea a dry cloth.

"Well, I am certain that Lord Renly will accompany him, and Ser Barristan, along with his Grace's squires. Prince Joffrey is also going, and The Hound." She said casually. "I hear Lord Stark is on the mend, he will hold court in the King's absence, the day after tomorrow." She added.

"It will be good to see Lord Stark up and about." Syreena said, grateful for the change in subject. Rhea agreed, and went on about her evening chores. Syreena picked at her dinner, disappointed. Sandor would likely be gone for days with the King, and she worried that Bryce would come for her before they returned from the kingswood. She wished she could see Sandor again before she left King's Landing. She realized that if he returned before Bryce that he would have to attend her wedding as Joffrey's sworn shield, and she didn't want him to be forced to see her married off. She had to let him go. She prepared for bed early and fell asleep, dreaming of strong arms encircling her.

SANDOR tried to sleep, but when he closed his eyes he was back in the cellar with her. He could feel her soft lips on his, her hands on his face and neck. He became aroused at the thought of her and his eyes flew open. He had to get some relief, and knew the only way to get it. He put on his boots and cloak and went out to find a brothel. He wasn't interested in wine or games, he craved relief for his throbbing manhood. He stalked into the first one he came to, looking around the common room. He saw a dark-haired whore sitting on a young squire's lap and walked over to them. Her eyes widened as he grabbed her arm and pulled her away, the squire protested but didn't leave his seat. Sandor pulled the whore into a private room and closed the door. She was afraid of him, but she was experienced and knew her job was to please him. She smiled suggestively and untied his cloak.

"Enough of that." He growled, pushing her onto the bed. "I want you scared." Her eyes widened again, and his cock throbbed. He wasted no time, untying his pants just enough to free his manhood. He kneeled on the bed and pulled her hips toward him. She didn't resist, spreading her legs on command. He took her wrists in his hands and pinned them above her head. She cried out when he entered her, but she was loose from experience and could easily take him. She moaned as he thrust himself into her again and again, and she raised her hips to meet his. He closed his eyes and pounded into her, desperately seeking relief. He reached for climax and it exploded inside of him, relief hitting him like a wave. His thrusts slowed as he came, then he pulled out of her and sat back, breathing heavily. The dark-haired whore got up and wiped herself clean, then offered him a cloth to clean himself. He accepted, and handed her a coin purse in return. She took it nervously and left the room. He wiped his manhood and tucked it back into his pants, tying the strings. He left the brothel and walked back to the castle. He thought of Syreena, her fine black hair and her emerald eyes. The whore with dark hair paled in comparison. She was a cheap imitation of what he really wanted. He entered the castle and went straight to his chamber. He took off his boots and cloak and fell into bed, drifting off into a dreamless sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

*** I would like to apologize to those who have been reading this from the start and waiting for an update, it has been entirely too long since I last updated. I couldn't decide on a direction for the story and I got lazy about the research for the next parts. The coming chapters will have to follow the original plot very closely, and I had to re-read parts of _"A Game of Thrones"_ to figure some things out. So sorry!!! Thank you for your patience! ***

 *** _Disclaimer: Some quotes in this chapter were taken from "A Game of Thrones."*_**

 ** _*GRAPHIC CONTENT*GRAPHIC CONTENT*_**

Chapter 8

SYREENA wandered aimlessly around the Keep for most of the day. She had considered going to the gardens, but was deterred when she thought of meeting people on the paths and having to force pleasantries. She wanted to be alone, but hated the confines of her chamber. Anxiety crept over her as she wound her way through the corridors. They seemed to narrow as she walked, closing in on her. She felt like an animal trapped in a snare. No matter how hard she fought against it, she could not escape. She found a corridor with large, open windows overlooking the city and stopped to breathe some of the fresh air. From this vantage point she could see countless rooftops and tiny people moving about in the streets. She felt so far removed from the bustling streets of King's Landing and yet she could still hear the clamor of the city bouncing off the walls of the Red Keep. She watched the people of the city pulling carts, carrying baskets, coming and going from shops and taverns. She imagined herself as one of them, living day-to-day without worrying about propriety or grace. The silk dresses, the lady's maids, the constant guard — she could give it all up in an instant. She craved a simpler life where she could marry for love and live out in the wild of the north; far away from this place and the constant schemes and manipulations that came with it.

With the sun hanging low in the afternoon sky, she pushed her troubles to the back of her mind and headed to the throne room. Lord Stark had recovered enough to hold court in the King's absence and she was eager to see him.

When she entered the cavernous throne room, a large crowd had already gathered. She quietly made her way to an opening beside a pillar, giving her a clear view of the proceedings. Lord Stark sat uncomfortably on the Iron Throne, his injured leg in a plaster cast. A group of villagers knelt before him; men, women, and children alike, tattered and bloody. They were flanked by three knights Syreena didn't recognize. There were only three members of the small council present, Lord Varys, Grand Maester Pycelle, and Lord Baelish. From what Syreena could gather, the villagers had been attacked by a band of brigands. The knights seemed to believe that they were Lannister soldiers. Just the day before, Syreena had heard gossip in the gardens about the situation in the West; Lord Stark's wife had seized Tyrion Lannister and both the Tullies and the Lannisters had called their banners. She had listened long enough to know that there were armies amassing in the West and the North, which meant her beloved family would be preparing for war. She wished she could be with them now more than ever, fighting by their side.

One of the knights spoke out, bringing her attention back to the present.

"This is all that remains of the holdfast of Sherrer, Lord Eddard. The rest are dead, along with the people of Wendish Town and the Mummer's Ford." He announced, gesturing to the villagers.

Lord Stark ordered the villagers to stand. One by one, they rose hesitantly. A young girl remained on her knees, staring up at the throne in fear.

A farmer stepped forward and spoke out about the attack. "They burnt us out. Come riding in the dark, up from the south, and fired the fields and the houses alike, killing them as tried to stop them. They weren't no raiders, though, m'lord. They had no mind to steal our stock, not these, they butchered my milk cow where she stood and left her for the flies and the crows." His account seemed to encourage the others to share. An older man with a bandage around his head spoke out next.

"They rode down my 'prentice boy...chased him back and forth across the fields on their horses, poking at him with their lances like it was a game, them laughing and the boy stumbling and screaming till the big one pierced him clean through." Syreena felt a shift in the large room, a sense of uneasiness fell over the crowd. Each story was more horrific than the last.

"They killed my mother at Wendish Town..." The kneeling girl started to speak, but began to cry. One of the knights finished for her.

"At Wendish Town, the people sought shelter in their holdfast, but the walls were timbered. The raiders piled straw against the wood and burnt them all alive. When the Wendish folk opened their gates to flee the fire, they shot down with arrows as they came running out, even women with suckling babes." Syreena put her hand over mouth in horror. Who could commit such atrocities?

"What proof do you have that these were Lannisters?" Lord Stark asked, "did they wear crimson cloaks or fly a lion banner?"

"Even Lannisters are not so blind stupid as that," one knight snapped.

Another spoke out, interrupting him, "Every man among them was mounted and mailed. They were armed with steel-tipped lances and longswords, with battle-axes for the butchering." He encouraged an older man to come forward and tell Lord Stark what he saw.

"It were warhorses they rode. Many a year I worked in old Ser Willum's stables, so I knows the difference." The old man exclaimed.

Lord Baelish spoke next, "Well mounted brigands...perhaps they stole the horses from the last place they raided." Lord Stark seemed to ignore the comment.

"How many men were there in this raiding party?" Lord Stark asked. One man swore there were a hundred men, another said fifty. Several others spoke at the same time, making it impossible to discern an accurate amount.

Lord Stark asked, "What of the armor they wore? Did any of you note ornaments or decorations, devices on shield or helm?"

A man in a brewer's apron shook his head. "It grieves me, m'lord, but no, the armor they showed us was plain, only...the one who led them, he was armored like the rest, but there was no mistaking him, m'lord. Those as say giants are all dead never saw this one, I swear. Big as an ox he was, and a voice like stone breaking."

A hushed whisper fell over the crowd. Syreena heard a hundred voices whisper, " _The Mountain."_ One of the knights openly accused Ser Gregor Clegane of the attacks, and a dispute opened between the knights and the small council. She remembered The Mountain's actions during the Hand's Tournament. He had nearly killed Ser Loras in a fit of rage and then fought his own brother for interfering. Sandor was a large man, but The Mountain was larger still.

She turned her attention back to the proceedings. The knights were asking for the Crown's permission to retaliate against The Mountain. Lord Stark denied them vengeance, but promised the villagers justice.

"The First Men believed that the judge who called for death should wield the sword, and in the north we hold to that still. I mislike sending another to do my killing...yet it seems I have no choice." Lord Stark announced, glancing at his injured leg. Before he could continue, Ser Loras Tyrell stepped forth from the crowd.

"Lord Eddard, I beg you the honor of acting in your place. Give this task to me, my Lord, and I swear I shall not fail you" He asked proudly.

Lord Stark's gaze searched the crowd beyond the young knight, and he did not acknowledge him. Instead he called upon older, more experienced men from the gallery.

"Lord Beric, Thoros of Myr, Ser Gladden, Lord Lothar..." He called out, each man stepping forward. "Each of you is to assemble twenty men to bring my word to Gregor's keep. Twenty of my own guards shall go with you. Lord Beric Dondarrion, you shall have command, as befits your rank." Lord Beric bowed in reply.

Lord Stark's voice rose suddenly, filling the cavernous throne room. "In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, First of his name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, by the word of Eddard of the House Stark, his Hand, I charge you to ride to the westlands with all haste, to cross the Red Fork of the Trident under the King's flag, and there bring the King's justice to the false knight Gregor Clegane, and to all those who shared in his crimes. I denounce him, and attaint him, and strip him of all rank and titles, of all lands and incomes and holdings, and do sentence him to death. May the gods take pity on his soul."

Ser Loras spoke out again, addressing Lord Stark. "Lord Eddard, what of me?"

"No one doubts your valor, Ser Loras, but we are about justice here, and what you seek is vengeance." He replied. "The throne will hear no more petitions today." Lord Stark was then helped down from the throne, and Ser Loras stormed away in anger.

The crowd began to file out through the large doors at the front of the throne room. Syreena was herded along with them, unable to move against the crowd. Sansa and her septa were ahead of her in the crowd, but they didn't notice her. She overheard Sansa mention her father mistreating Ser Loras, that he should have been permitted to go with Lord Beric. Syreena thought it best to avoid them completely, and managed to duck past without being seen. As she moved away from them, she heard Septa Mordane scolding Sansa for questioning her father's decisions. Once in the entry hall, she broke away from the crowd and headed for a stairwell leading back into the Keep. She hurried back to her chambers to think over all she had heard.

She thought of Sandor as she walked, wondering how he would react to Lord Stark's judgement. She knew Sandor despised his brother, but their battle at the Hand's Tournament raised doubt in her mind. Her own combat training allowed her to see more than just clanging swords; though Gregor was swinging to kill, Sandor only ever blocked his brother's killing blows. He made no attempt to harm Gregor at all. Arriving at her chamber, she went in quickly and shut the door behind her, throwing the lock into place. She poured herself a goblet of honeyed wine and went to the window, sipping it slowly. She sat on the ledge, leaning back against the stone.

As the wine dulled her senses, her intimate moment with Sandor crept back into her mind. This time she let herself remember. She closed her eyes and instantly she was back in the darkness, his arms wrapped around her. She felt his lips on hers, heard their ragged breaths echoing slightly against the cold stone walls. She remembered him pulling away from her suddenly, the anger and disappointment in his eyes. She wished now that she had asked him not to go, and she wondered if he would have stayed with her.

She thought about Bryce and her eyes fluttered open, a sharp pang of guilt creeping up from her chest. He was blissfully planning for their future together while she was longing for another man. She sighed with frustration and shook her head. When she compared the two in her head, it suddenly made perfect sense to her why she would prefer Sandor to Bryce. She wasn't accustomed to men like Bryce: handsome, wealthy, proper... She was raised by a fierce warrior, surrounded by rough, battle-worn northmen who swore, drank, and told tales of whores and wars long past. Her heart suddenly ached for her home and her family, and she realized that Sandor filled the emptiness she felt. She felt a sense of familiarity with Sandor, like she could be free with him. With Bryce, she would be imprisoned by propriety and obligation for the rest of her days.

She prayed silently to the gods for guidance, begging for a miracle to help her escape her situation. She wanted to be free; free from King's Landing, free from Cersei, free to make her own choices. She cursed Jorah under her breath for bringing her to this wretched place, and yet she found herself worrying about him. She remembered overhearing the small council discussing his latest report, and couldn't help but wonder what kind of atrocities they would force him to commit until they gave him the pardon they had promised him. She hated them for using him this way. She hated Cersei for arranging her marriage. Most of all, she hated herself for agreeing to come to this place. Anger rose up and dulled the effects of the wine. She dumped the remaining wine out of the window and went to her chest, digging around for her sparring clothes. Once she was dressed, she belted her sword and dagger around her waist and then put her green wrap dress over them. This way no one would suspect anything if they saw her. She unlocked the door and left her chamber, headed for the empty solar to spar.

She snuck carefully through the corridors, making sure she wasn't seen. She went up the stairs quickly and glanced into the empty hallway before darting into the solar and shutting the door behind her. She locked the door and listened there for a moment, making sure she wasn't followed. When she was satisfied, she untied her wrap dress and took it off, laying it out carefully on a table along the wall. She walked to the middle of the room and drew her short sword, feeling the weight of it in her hand. She swung it a few times, warming up. She remembered what those poor villagers had described; Ser Gregor and his men killing and burning unprovoked. Anger welled up inside of her and she envisioned Ser Gregor looming over her. She swung out at the apparition, imagining his attacks and blocking them. She drew her dagger and practiced close combat, sword in one hand and dagger in the other. Her imaginary opponent swung his broadsword high for the killing blow, and she ducked in and drove her sword into the open space under his arm. She stood up, smiling to herself. She still fought well, but she needed more practice. She silently vowed to return every night for training. She sheathed her weapons and walked to the balcony to catch her breath. The sun had long disappeared below the horizon, and the air had cooled slightly. Her tight sparring clothes did not breathe like her light silk gowns, and for a brief moment she considered changing and heading back to her chamber. Instead she decided to spar a while longer, and she stayed there slashing at the air well into the night.

SANDOR fumed silently as he followed Prince Joffrey on horseback. The morning sun was rising, the sky glowing red and orange. They were returning from the kingswood, still at least a half-day's ride from King's Landing. Joffrey had been whining for hours, but they were under strict orders not to stop for rest. A rider had come from King's Landing to deliver a message to King Robert in the wee hours. The mysterious message sent the King into a drunken rage, and he ordered Sandor to see Joffrey returned to King's Landing.

They had been in the Kingswood for two days and hadn't seen any game. King Robert's drunken bellowing was likely the reason for that. He had been drinking since they left the Red Keep and Sandor was surprised he could still walk. Lord Renly and Ser Barristan had made an attempt to slow the King's wine consumption, but Robert had threatened them both with traitors' deaths if they so much as touched his wineskin. It was well known that the King liked his wine, but Sandor noticed that his current state was far worse than most had ever seen.

The sun was high when they arrived at the city gates. They rode through the streets winding toward the Red Keep, his hand resting on his sword as they made their way. Few chanced a fleeting look at his face as they passed, then quickly turned away in fear. It was a reaction he was accustomed to. They rode up the hill toward the Keep, its great red walls rising up in the distance. His thoughts suddenly ran wild, and Syreena's green eyes stared back at him. He could almost smell her sweet, floral scent. He regained his focus, shrugging her off. He needed all his senses to see Joffrey safely back to the Keep. The portcullis rose at their arrival, and they rode into the outer yard, safely inside the walls of the castle.

He delivered Joffrey to his mother and was dismissed for the remainder of the day. He left Maegor's Holdfast and stepped out into the inner bailey.

"Ser Clegane! The Queen must have been overjoyed at the return of her son. I trust your journey was without incident?" Littlefinger quipped from behind him. Sandor stopped and turned to face the slimy lord.

"I am no _Ser._ " He growled, turning to walk away.

"Pity about your brother's sentence." He called out, stopping Sandor in his tracks. "He is a favorite of Lord Tywin's. I hear he didn't take the news well when it reached him." He added before Sandor could reply.

"What are you going on about?" Sandor asked angrily, his hand resting on his sword hilt. Littlefinger noticed, and a small, crooked smirk crossed his face.

"You haven't heard? Well, I am sorry to be the bearer of such news." He crooned, carefully regarding Sandor's reaction. "Just yesterday the Lord Hand sent Lord Beric and a company of men to deliver the King's justice to your brother and his men." Sandor did not respond. He turned quickly and stalked away, leaving Littlefinger to smile to himself.

He went straight to his quarters and took off his battered armor. He exchanged his filthy roughspun shirt and pants for a fresh set, then put a well-worn black leather doublet and went to the kitchens in search of food. He ate his fill of meat pie and drank a flagon of ale, leaving the dishes for the kitchen servants. He kept thinking about Gregor, and no matter how long he turned it over in his mind he couldn't feel anything. One thing he knew for sure, they'd never be able to kill his brother. The big cunt would surely kill Beric Dondarrion and all his men without so much as a word.

Sandor made his way back to his quarters. He felt like a caged animal inside the stone walls after being in the kingswood. For days he had stayed awake, ensuring Joffrey's safety while on the hunt. He laid down and closed his eyes, but his mind would not rest. Every part of him was on edge; a war was brewing in the westerlands, his brother was wanted for execution...Eventually sleep found him, and when he let his guard down, there she was. Images of Syreena flooded his mind; he wanted to hunt her down and drag her away to a dark corner of the castle and claim every inch of her. In his dreams he held her, felt her skin against his, heard her saying his name, tasted her sweet lips. He woke several hours later, his forehead beaded with sweat. He sat up, wiping his brow. From his window he could see the large moon hanging low over the city, and he guessed it was sometime before midnight. The castle would be quiet, the corridors empty. He belted his sword at his waist and left his quarters, heading straight to Syreena's chambers.

He found her chamber door unlocked, and went in without knocking. A candle was burning on the table, and in the dim glow he saw her bed still made, and she was nowhere to be found. He stood there for a moment, unsure of his next move. Suddenly he realized where she might have gone, and he smiled to himself. He went back down the corridor and up the stairs to the unused apartments he had shown her. The door to the solar was left ajar, a sliver of light spilling into the corridor. He crept to the doorway and peered in, careful not to make any noise. He froze when he saw her.

She wore a loose roughspun shirt under a laced leather jerkin. Her brown roughspun breeches were tight-fitting, revealing her perfect hips and long legs. Her brown leather boots stopped just below her knees, and her thick, black hair was braided down her back. Her back was to the doorway, she was completely unaware of his presence. She was focused, skillfully wielding a castle-forged short sword. He watched in awe for a moment, taking in her figure. He watched her as she sparred, impressed by her skill. Her movements were calculated and quick, though he could tell by her stiffness that she was out of practice. He drew his sword silently and crept into the room, careful not to catch her attention. He watched her attacks and anticipated her next move, and when she spun around with a sweeping blow, her sword met his. She froze suddenly, her eyes wide with surprise. She dropped her sword and stepped back, quietly staring. Her cheeks were flushed and the hair at her temples was damp with perspiration. Her roughspun shirt was unlaced above the jerkin, revealing the tops of her full breasts. She was wild and unkempt, and he had never wanted her more.

"Pick it up." He ordered. Her eyes regarded him cautiously as she slowly bent and picked up her sword, never breaking eye contact. She eyed him suspiciously as she stood back up, her body automatically falling into a defensive stance. He slowly circled her, sword in hand, and as he moved, she countered each step.

SYREENA's head was spinning. She studied his face, but he was unreadable. The clang of their swords colliding was still ringing in her ears. He smirked slightly, and squared off to her. Watching his movements, she anticipated his attack and swung at the same time, their blades crashing together again. He stepped back, eyes narrowed. She studied his face, unsure of his intentions. He was intently focused on her. His size had never scared her before, but in this moment an uneasy feeling crept up her back. She shrugged the fear off as he came at her again, and she parried three blows before he backed away. His smirk was back, he was clearly enjoying this. She watched him intently, waiting for him to attack. Instead she noticed his broad shoulders relax slightly and she made her move. She had a close combat advantage over his long sword, so she ducked under his wide sweep to shorten the distance between them. He anticipated, stepping backwards. Frustrated, she stepped forward hastily and he swung his sword high. He brought his blade down hard and she caught it with her own, using both hands to hold it off. He pushed harder, overpowering her. Soon they were face to face, their blades locked together.

"Do you yield, my Lady?" He asked, smiling suggestively.

"Never." She replied breathlessly. She pushed back with all her strength and he stepped back casually, laughing to himself. He smirked playfully at her as they caught their breath, and she felt herself smiling back at him. They squared off again, and he attacked, faster this time. She parried, their blades glancing off eachother several times. Knowing she needed to close the gap between them, she saw her opportunity to get close and spun into him. He caught her sword arm at the wrist and disarmed her, but she drew her dagger with her free hand and pressed it to his throat.

"Do you yield, _Ser_?" She asked playfully. They were standing chest to chest, and he had one of her hands restrained behind her back. In one swift movement he tossed his sword aside and spun her around. He grabbed her other wrist, making her drop the dagger. He secured both of her wrists with one hand and pulled her closer. She could feel his muscular chest against her shoulder blades.

"I am no Ser." He growled into her ear. He buried his face in her neck and inhaled, breathing her in. With his free hand he undid the laces on her leather jerkin and let it hang open. His hand lightly brushed over her breasts as he opened her roughspun shirt, baring her shoulders. Overwhelmed with desire, her head fell back against his chest and she closed her eyes, giving herself over to him. He slowly ran his lips down her neck, and she felt an inexplicable ache in the deepest parts of herself. She wanted more. She _needed_ more.

SANDOR felt his cock throbbing with lust and held her tighter against him. His right hand held her wrists tightly while he explored her body with his left. She was panting, her perfect breasts rising and falling with each breath. Her roughspun shirt was stretched wide at her chest where he had opened it, and he slid his hand under the fabric and cupped one of her breasts, lightly brushing his thumb over her sensitive nipple. She moaned softly at his touch, spurring him on. Slowly he moved his hand down toward her navel. When he reached the top of her roughspun breeches, she stiffened slightly. He stopped, waiting for her to protest. When she didn't, he slowly undid the laces and slid his hand down under her smallclothes. When he reached down between her legs, he found her wet with yearning. He rubbed her gently, then spread the lips of her wet cunt open with his fingers. He rubbed her opening with his finger and a moan escaped her lips. He wanted to rip her clothes free and take her right there, but he knew she wouldn't be ready for him. He released her wrists and cupped her breast with his right hand. She reached up over her head and held onto his neck with both hands. He pressed his lips to her neck again and slowly pushed his finger inside her. She cried out softly and bit her lower lip as he entered her. He left it there for a moment, letting her get used to the sensation.

" _Sandor..._ " she whispered breathlessly, nearly sending him over the edge. He pulled his finger out and pushed two fingers back in. She moaned deeply and her breaths became ragged with lust. Her tight cunt was throbbing around his fingers, and he opened them slightly as he moved them back and forth, gently stretching her. She cried out with pleasure and her legs weakened slightly. He wrapped his free arm around her, holding her up.

" _Sandor..."_ she said again, louder.

"Tell me what you want, pretty Bear." He whispered against her ear. She moaned again as he moved his fingers inside her. She yearned for relief, and he wanted her to beg him for it. He was in no way prepared for her response.

 _"Take me...please..."_ she begged breathlessly. Her words hit him like a tourney lance to the chest and he froze suddenly. _"Please_ Sandor..." she begged again, her voice wavering. He pulled his fingers out of her tight cunt and spun her around to face him.

"You don't know what you're asking me to do..." he growled, her disheveled appearance driving him to the edge. She ran her hands up his chest to his shoulders and pressed her body against him.

"Yes, I do." She whispered as she pressed her lips to his.

SYREENA wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him deeply. He was holding back, unsure of how far to go. She needed to convince him, so she let her hunger take over. She untied his doublet and pushed it off of his shoulders. He studied her face as he let it fall the floor behind him. She moved on to the laces of his shirt, and when she pulled it up he raised his arms and let her pull it up and over his head. She dropped the shirt on the floor and ran her hands over his muscled body. His chest was covered in dark hair and scarred from battle. The sight of him standing there bare-chested took the breath from her body. She looked up into his eyes and started untying his breeches. He stopped her suddenly, then reached for the hem of her shirt and slowly lifted it over her head. His brown eyes raked over her as he dropped her shirt to the floor. He pulled her long braid to the side and untied the end, and she slowly loosened it, letting her hair fall freely down her back. He lowered himself to his knees in front of her and unlaced her boots, pulling one off, then the other. He grabbed her hips and pulled her toward him, burying his face in her breasts. He took her breast into his mouth and the ache returned between her legs. She ran her fingers through his dark hair and pulled his head back. Their eyes met, and she kissed him hungrily. He kissed her back, and with both hands he yanked her breeches down and she stepped out of them. He rose to his feet and lifted her off the floor effortlessly. Instinctively she wrapped her legs around him as he carried her across the room and pushed her back to the wall. She lowered her hips and pressed herself against his hard member. She felt it throb through his breeches and she reached down between them to free it.

SANDOR watched her intently as she tugged at the laces of his breeches, her hands shaking. Her black hair hung wildly over her shoulders, her pale, flawless skin shining with perspiration. Her green eyes were blazing with lust when they met his. She freed his throbbing cock and he rubbed it against her wet opening. She moaned deeply and ground her hips against it. The feeling drove him wild and he moved with her. The way she responded to his touch pushed him close to the edge. He reached down between them and pushed the tip against her opening. She locked eyes with him and slowly lowered herself onto his cock. As it filled her tight, wet cunt she cried out in pain. Surprisingly, the pain didn't stop her. She lowered herself all the way, taking him in to the hilt. He buried his face in her neck, a gutteral moan escaping his lips. He remained still, letting her stretch around him. She was panting, her head resting against the stone wall. He started to move slowly, pulling out and then slowly pushing himself back inside of her. She dug her nails into his back and her legs tightened around him, driving him to move faster. Her sweet little cunt was throbbing wildly, squeezing him as he pushed himself into her over and over. Soon they had reached a rhythm, the room filled with the sounds of his grunting and her moaning. He was reaching his limit and he needed her to release. He adjusted his hips to reach the spot he knew would send her over the edge. She cried out when he hit it, and began to grind her hips against his hungrily. He knew she was close, and he shoved himself into her over and over. She cried out as she came, her cunt tightening around him until he thought he'd explode. He let her ride out the pleasure, her body shuddering with every wave. When she was spent, her body relaxed and he pulled himself out. He moved over to the desk in the corner and laid her down on her back. He grabbed her hips and pulled her toward him and threw her legs over his shoulders. He rubbed his throbbing cock against the swollen lips of her cunt, then pushed himself back inside. She moaned as he found his rhythm, driving him to move faster. When he found his pleasure, he pulled out quickly and finished, letting his seed spill onto her belly. He fell forward from exhaustion, resting his head on her chest.

SYREENA let him lay there with his head on her chest as they caught their breath. She was exhausted and sore, but satisfied somehow. She had never thought she could feel pleasure like this. Ladies never spoke of intimacy, so she was always left to wonder what it would be like. She thought of what Cersei had told her about losing her maidenhead, and smirked to herself. Sandor lifted himself off of her eventually and brought his shirt back to her. He gently wiped her clean with it and pulled her to a seated position on the desk. He brushed her hair away from her face and pressed a long, gentle kiss on her lips. She never wanted to forget this feeling. She watched him as he gathered her clothes, his muscled, scarred body wet with sweat. She walked over to him and embraced him from behind, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her head against his back. He turned to face her and pulled her to his chest. His strong arms encircled her, holding her tight.

"You know we can't stay here all night, Syreena." He said softly. The sound of her name on his lips warmed her body. She wanted him to hold her like this all night, and every night after. He slowly pulled away and handed her clothes back to her to get dressed. Instead she pulled on her green silk wrap she had worn to cover her sparring clothes. As she began to tie the laces he stopped her, and opened the dress back up. He wrapped her sword belt around her waist and fastened it. His rough hands on her skin raised gooseflesh, and he smirked when he saw how she reacted to his touch. He sheathed her sword and dagger and took one last longing look before closing the dress. She felt heat in her cheeks, smiling as she tied the dress closed. He shrugged on his leather doublet and she helped him with his sword belt. He watched her as she fastened it, then put a finger under her chin and raised her face to his. He ran his thumb over her lips, his warm brown eyes staring into hers. He took her hand and led her to the door and kissed her again, his lips lingering on hers.

"You're going to be the death of me, pretty Bear." He growled against her lips. His deep voice raised gooseflesh on her arms and she kissed him again. He opened the door slowly and stepped out into the corridor. Seeing that they were alone, he took her hand and walked her to the staircase. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, he turned and brushed her hair away from her face.

"Go straight to your room." He said, his gaze locked with hers. She nodded, disappointed that he couldn't take her there himself. He kissed her on her forhead quickly and nudged her forward into the corridor. She glanced back in his direction as she headed for her chamber, but he had already turned to go in another direction.

She made it to her chamber without being seen and went in, locking the door behind her. She quickly undressed and hid her weapons, then donned a thin shift and climbed into her bed. She sighed happily, and smiled to herself. She felt a soreness between her thighs, but the memory of the pleasure he gave her made it less noticeable. She loved how he made her body feel, and she couldn't wait to be with him again. She closed her eyes and fell into a restful sleep.


End file.
